


Windswept

by TwylaMercedes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 13:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 94,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwylaMercedes/pseuds/TwylaMercedes
Summary: Lady Belle agrees to marriage with the mysterious and disreputable Master Stiltskin, whose estates border her father’s Earldom. Her new husband is distant, often absent, and rumored to have involvement in criminal dealings. Lurking above them all is the specter of the most dangerous Dark One, an audacious sky pirate who seems to have taken a personal interest in Lady Belle.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

“Congratulations!” A handful of men clustered around the groom, all anxious to curry favor, approval or perhaps some kind of endorsement from the man.

More bored than peeved, the man waved them all off and reached for the hand of his lovely bride to lead her away from the altar.

_She was trembling, not noticeable to anyone else, but he could feel it once he’d taken her hand. It was shaking, all the while she was smiling and nodding at the wedding guests, the very picture of a happy bride. She did not meet his eyes, passively allowing him to lead her out of the chapel and into the sleek black carriage awaiting the newly wedded couple._

He assisted her in ascending the carriage and then, holding his cane in one hand and using the side of the door compartment, he pulled himself up and into the sleek covered transport. He sat across from her, resting his cane next to himself. He glanced at the young woman who had just tied herself to him. He saw that, although she kept her eyes downcast, she was examining him as she could through her lashes. _Clever girl. Cautious girl._

He took a moment to examine his bride. Although he’d seen pictures of her and had read through multiple reports from different sources, he’d actually only known this woman for less than an hour, having met her at the chapel’s altar. She, as all reports but one had said, was absolutely stunning – a delicate beauty with a porcelain complexion, sparkling blue eyes, and lustrous chestnut curls.

There had been that one report that the woman was ‘undersized’ and ‘wan.’ The report had gone on to speak with some disdain regarding the young woman’s ‘countrified’ manners and finished with artfully suggesting that the woman would not be acceptable in the urbane circles in which he moved. That report had come from one of his female operatives, a woman he had come to distrust but was nonetheless still using. He was, after all, not one to discount any source of information, even a biased one.  

He continued his examination of his bride. With his cultivated eye for fashion, he couldn’t help but notice that her dress was about twenty years, likely more, out-of-date. It had clearly been handed-down and re-cut and altered to fit her tiny frame, but the alterations had not been completed by a modiste familiar with current fashion. Its color had almost certainly faded from a brilliant gold and was now only a soft, muted yellow-gold. There were cleverly placed embroideries and lace appliques, he suspected, there to cover weak spots in the fabric, perhaps even holes. The only jewelry she wore was a simple gold chain necklace with a single modest pearl pendant.

His own clothes reflected the height of fashion -- a pristine white shirt of fine lawn cotton with a high collar and an intricate lace jabot, sleeves with extravagant deep cuffs finished with onyx and gold cufflinks, a golden silk vest, a black velvet jacket and black pants of the finest spun, softest animal fibers. His boots, also black, were glossily polished and fit snuggly along his calves.

“I’m going to send you on ahead to Dark Castle,” he spoke, startling her out of her examination.

“Sir?” she clearly did not understand.

“I have business in the capital that needs my immediate and . . . personal . . . attention,” he explained. “Such a bore, you know. My business affairs are dull beyond measure, especially because they require on-going attention when I’d much rather be out riding or if I must be indoors playing cards. I left in mid-crisis to participate in our wedding, but I must now return.”

“So you won’t . . .” she didn’t finish and he could see in the waning light of the late afternoon that she was blushing.

He spoke softly, “My most sincere regrets, but I shall have to postpone the pleasures of a wedding night.” He stretched out as he could in the tight quarters of the coach. “I would send you on to my people at Dark Castle. My majordomo is Jefferson and the head housekeeper is Mrs. Potts. I think you will find both of them to be cordial and welcoming.”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

He reached into the small cabinet he’d had built into the carriage. It was a vehicle that he often used for business travel and he had equipped it with a stationery center, including a serviceable lap desk, as well as a medium-sized box suitable for stashing food and drink, and, in his case, a small bottle of potent whiskey.

“I will be parting from you at Brick Waystation, about an hour from here. There will be one of my airships waiting for me there. I shall give you a missive that you will then give to Jefferson.”

He sat back rubbing his sore knee. He took a breath. The next topic might prove to be a delicate one. “I am requesting that he arrange for a dressmaker to attend you immediately. I plan to take you to Hadensburg and introduce you. As my wife, you must be attired in only the most fashionable clothes.”

“Yes sir,” she whispered her response, her hand nervously picking at one of the folds of her gown.

He continued, “While you’re at the castle, you will, of course, be free to wander the grounds. I have a lovely garden and, I’m told, a splendid library.”

Her face briefly lit up, “A library?” she asked looking up at him.

_So that report was true. She was literate – and more than just able to read, but well-read. He had doubted it initially. Most noble women were not – as were not most noble men – they had scribes to read and write for them._

“I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty recognizing it when you find it. Floor to ceiling, very nicely appointed,” he assured her with a slight smile. “I do request that you stay out of my study in the North Tower – it is a rule that I have for the entire household staff. I conduct my business from that room and cannot risk anything being disturbed.”

“I shall stay out of your study, sir,” she told him.

They rode in silence while he used the remaining light to write his letter. Soon enough, he sealed it and put it aside.

He noticed his bride was quietly watching the passing countryside. As the sun began to set and she was now enshrouded in shadows, she turned toward him. For the first time, she spoke to him without him addressing her first.

“Why did you marry me?”

“The brutal truth? I require a wife with impeccable bloodlines. My own are rather . . . murky and there are places that are closed off to me, despite my money and my power, because of this . . . deficiency.”

_He wanted to tell her the truth. He’d wanted – needed – access to her father’s property. He’d hadn’t even known about her existence until he had sent in agents to bring back information about the Earldom, but the moment he’d seen her portrait, he had thought she was the most exquisite beauty he had ever seen and he’d wanted nothing more than to possess her – another beautiful thing to grace his houses, a beautiful thing that would complement his other beautiful things._

_Then the reports about her character, her devotion to her people, her kindness had begun to come in. And the more he heard about her, her spirit, her determination, her desire to help her people, the more he wanted to know her._

_Initially, he’d had no intention of remarrying, his time already too consumed, his life too busy. But this woman . . . she was not one that he could risk losing, certainly not to some lout who wouldn’t appreciate her. She was perfect in every way for him – her beauty, her intelligence, her loyalty to her people, her family ties, even the desperation that had likely driven her to accept his offer. She was a woman fit to sit by his side, bear his children -- a woman he could very well learn to love._

_But now, at this moment, he couldn’t afford to have weaknesses and telling her all these things, his feelings, his hopes, and dreams -- these things would be weaknesses. These thoughts and feelings could easily be used against him. He thought it best for her to think that this had simply been a convenient business arrangement._

She nodded, not at all flummoxed by his reply regarding his less than desirable family lineage. “And my father desperately needed your money and your power to rebuild his estate and provide for his people.”

He appreciated her ready insight, “That is true. Your father and I have mutually beneficial interests. Otherwise, I would suspect, your father would never have considered the son of an upstart _nouveau-riche_ gambler and a disreputable actress to be a suitable husband for his only daughter.” He caught a small, gentle smile as she acknowledged his statement.

They rode again in silence for a while.

“And why did you agree for me to become your husband?” he asked her _he had to ask._

She did not look at him. “I’m a dutiful daughter,” was all she said, at first. Then, “And, I recognized that your wealth, your resources could help my people. They have fallen on hard times.”

He nodded, “So I’ve heard.” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the waning sun. “I shall help your people,” he promised her.

“And I shall be a good wife to you, sir,” she answered. She met his eyes, her gaze steady. _She meant what she’d said._

 

**Brick Waystation**

The sun was sitting on the horizon when they arrived at Brick Waystation, a struggling yet stalwart outpost between the outlying fiefs of the two large estates. It was a frayed-edged plain brick structure, which likely had given the facility its name. It was equipped with an array of spartan sleeping quarters upstairs and, downstairs, a common room. Next to the station was a small docking port that could manage one airship at a time. A small transport was already anchored there, the moorings creaking as the wind blew the little ship around.

He had a little while before his airship would be ready to launch, so he had ordered supper for them both. He had autocratically taken possession of the Brick Station’s largest suite.

Suite was a generous word for their room. It was a large attic room with a bed, a table and two chairs all set on a bare wood floor. There was an inadequate fireplace and a single smoky-paned window. The wash closet was down the hall to be shared by all the guests. At his request, their food was served in the room and he sat across from her at the table.

She thought the food bland, but nourishing – a bean-based stew with rustic bread. There was water to drink for her. She hadn’t eaten since early morning and hunger certainly increased the palatability of the meal.

Her new husband picked over his food, evidently not finding it as tasty as she did.

“The food here is barely edible,” he complained. “And climbing all those impossible rickety stairs . . . “ he shook his head, rubbing his knee. She had noticed that the cane was less a fashion statement and more of a utilitarian necessity for the man.

“Perhaps one of my first projects could be to upgrade this facility so we’ll have someplace decent to stay if we’re traveling by carriage back and forth between your father’s estate and Dark Castle.” He sighed, “The Emperor is responsible for maintaining these waystations, but these outlying posts get little money. If you want base creature comforts, you have to provide them for yourself.” And he poured himself some whiskey from the bottle he’d had in the carriage. “Of course, I also want to get an airship landing pad set up by your father’s estate.”

“I had heard it was dangerous traveling by air, what with the pirates,” she said quietly.

“It is,” he nodded, pushing his plate away. “And they grow bolder every day. I don’t know why the Emperor hasn’t done anything about them. They interfere with my business. And of greater importance, they often seem to be the only thing that people can talk about. Such a bore. But for all the chaos the pirates cause, it’s still most efficient to ship products and transport people by air.” He yawned and adjusted his cuffs. “But I certainly don’t want to discuss business with my wife. It’s burdensome enough to have to do so with my partners.”

“I don’t object, sir.”

He looked at her. “I’d heard you were a bit of an odd duck. That you read a lot and were always scribbling in your journal.”

“I do have unusual interests,” she admitted. “I’m also a tolerable dancer. Along with playing the pianoforte, and producing excellent needlework, I can shoot a gun as well as any man and I ride better than most.”

“Well, other than riding, I can’t do any of those things, but I do play a mean game of cribbage. I’m also rather an excellent billiard player and I can tolerate an excessive amount of whiskey.”

“You’ll have to teach me cribbage, my lord.”

He looked at his new wife, “I’m a trifle concerned that someone of your accomplishments might surpass my meager skills. You seem to be a rather adept person.”

“Shall that be a problem?” she asked him.

He didn’t respond right away, studying her from across the table. “I don’t think so, madam. I don’t think so.” He pushed back from his meal and spoke slowly. “I will be on the airship and sail through the night to the capital.” He paused and spoke even more slowly, “I . . . regret . . . now . . . having to leave you.”

He stood and offered his hand to her, pulling her to her feet. He looked intently into her eyes, his brown eyes locking with her blue ones.

“I shall endeavor to finish up my business and return to attend to . . . to you,” and he lowered his mouth to hers.

She’d never been kissed on the mouth before, their grazing of lips at the altar hardly counting as a kiss. She initially froze at the unfamiliar contact. But it wasn’t unpleasant, his lips firm but gentle against hers. He nudged her mouth open and, surprised, she found herself clinging to him. She could taste their supper and the whiskey he had drunk.

He pulled away from her, his brown eyes darkened. It seemed to the young woman that he was hesitating.

She thought that he might kiss her again.

“Soon,” he promised and left her.

The young woman stood a moment in the dimly lit bedroom, pulling herself together.

_This had been quite a day._

**What Night Brings**

“Whatever have you gotten yourself into, Isabelle Lacinda French?” she asked herself.

Things had been bad, very bad, on her father’s lands. The family was even older than the Emperor’s, but their fortunes had fallen and they were only just managing to pay their taxes and continue to hold on to the ancestral home. Once the market for Avonlea’s rare pink marble had fallen off, the rose-to-salmon colored marble abruptly going out of fashion, the earldom had begun to suffer. Of course, even if there had been a market, the emperor’s conscription policies had taken their most able workers and they no longer had enough men available to work the quarries.

If they had been left to their own devices, they would have done well enough, but they continually had to pay out ever-increasing tributes and service fees. Without an external source of income and with a dwindling supply of marriable men, they had rapidly depleted their ready resources.

Most recently there had been a trilogy of disasters: a devastating illness that took the old and the young, the emperor’s latest conscription for military service that took the bulk of the remaining healthy young adult males, and then, most critically, failing crops that affected all those who had been left to tend the lands.

Her father had already sold off what few material possessions they’d still had. She had barely managed to keep back her pearl necklace, it being one of the few things she had that had belonged to her mother. The horses had been sold off except those few that could also work the land. The peasants continued to work the lands for shelter and a share of the food they helped grow.

Belle had worked as hard as any of the peasants. She’d spent time with their aging healer and began to learn much about medicine. The older woman was now struggling with the physical demands of getting around to see the ill and Belle began to take on this all-important duty. Belle had discovered an aptitude for the healing arts and the aged healer took the time to teach her about some of the more dangerous treatments – such as the dragon’s bloodroot which could soothe a cough or stop someone from breathing. There was also the pappara leaf which would make cattle wander in circles and make people see things that weren’t there, but in the right dosage could stop mental fits. And there was the orchis seed plant which could calm a rapid heart but, paradoxically, too much would make a person frenzied with energy, driving them to extremes and preventing them from sleeping. There was also the hedge vine, the bark of the white willow tree, the fruit of the sweet linsey, and so many more, all which could do harm if not prepared and administered correctly.

Most dangerous of all was the wild nimbus poppy. The dried excrement from the seed pod of this wild, elusive plant could be used in small doses as a calmative, but in more powerful doses was a euphoric and highly addictive. Belle had become aware that a few enterprising (or desperate) souls had taken to hunting and harvesting the rare plant and selling the white sparkling dust they were able to process from it on the black market. She had not approved of this activity, knowing Dust use led to misery and death, but she had not been able to make any headway on apprehending the Dust dealers.

Along with her healing duties, Belle also taught school three mornings a week, not just to the children, but to anyone who wanted to learn the basics of reading and calculations. She wasn’t above spending her other mornings in the vegetable garden and afternoons involved with other arduous jobs, such as soap-making or candle-dipping. To her father’s dismay, she’d learned to shoulder a rifle and hunt game.

She’d scrounged to discover other successful subsistence practices, encouraging the peasantry to domesticate rabbits and keep chickens as a source of food. She had looked the other way when the peasants had hunted and fished on the Earl’s private lands and had quickly developed a reputation for fairness and common sense among her people.

Belle had realized that she was the last thing of value that her father had. It was up to her to save her father’s estate, her people. She had to marry well, to marry a man who could financially restore her father’s lands, perhaps even find some sources of revenue and, even more needed, some way to entice young men back into the earldom. For herself, there had been marriage offers aplenty, many men willing to accept both the property and the woman, but none of the men had seemed willing to renovate the old estate and initiate needed improvement. Both Belle and her father had been leery of these men who seemed likely to sell the property and turn out those faithful workers who had served so well for so long.

She and her father had been growing increasingly desperate when the letter from _Master_ Stiltskin had arrived. The man had a reputation – although ruthless, skirting the law in his business dealings, he nevertheless was rumored to favor frivolous pastimes and fashion. _Rumors were also that he preferred the company of men, more like_ _boys, over that of women._

But he’d offered marriage and a promise to restore the Earldom of Avonlea to its former glory.

The man was known for keeping his word and honoring his deals.

They had to consider the man’s offer.

Stiltskin’s property was adjacent to theirs on the south side and they knew he was enormously wealthy. The story was that his father had acquired the duchy (the lands, but not the title) in a card game, but there had also been accusations of cheating. His father had further scandalized the countryside by a liaison with an actress, a beautiful woman for certain, but a woman of dubious reputation. Their only child, a son, had accepted his less than savory inheritance and had gone on to barter it into wildly successful multi-interest business ventures. Although he presented as a dandy, Belle knew the man commanded banking enterprises, shipping businesses, and massive property investments. His fortune, it was told, challenged that of the imperial family. He made deals with the titled and the untitled, the rich and poor and there was little that happened in the Empire that he had not had a hand in, including darker dealings, even criminal activities were said to be under his purview.

But for all his power, all his money, the younger Stiltskin did lack respectability. He lacked any semblance of respectability.

By joining the Earl’s family to himself, he not only added a third again onto his own lands, and, as he had clearly pointed out to her, her bloodlines were impeccable. Through her, he could buy some portion of the respectability that he lacked.

When she had met the man, standing at the altar, on her wedding day, she thought him interesting looking. He was not handsome in a classic way, but perhaps it was his eyes, his soft brown eyes, that lent character to his face; they seemed to catch every nuance of movement. She’d seen that he was dressed elegantly, his clothes new, expensive, of the finest material and workmanship, far better than anything she possessed.

His hand was warm when he wrapped it around her own cold fingers. _She had wondered if he had felt her trembling._ As he had left her at the station, he’d kissed her and his mouth had been hot on hers, stirring something deep within her. Belle was now wondering if her marriage bed was to be as tepid as some others had warned her that it would be.

 

NEXT: Stiltskin ponders the ramifications of his marriage.

Belle arrives at the Dark Castle.


	2. Breached Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiltskin ponders the ramifications of his marriage.  
> Belle arrives at the Dark Castle.

Stiltskin, All-Around Man of Business and Industry, Power Dealer, Deep Pockets Player, stood on the deck of the _Soumak_ , piloted by the good Captain Grumwald.

“Bit cold, isn’t it sir?” the ever-disgruntled ship’s captain spoke to him, raising his voice to be heard over the icy wind.

“It is,” he agreed. But he needed the cold at the moment.

He should never have kissed his bride.

He hadn’t anticipated the kiss, the woman, would heat his blood so profoundly. He hadn’t been with a woman in a long time, his energies consumed by his business affairs, his bitterness, and now, this special project. Somehow, he had not connected that being in the presence of a singularly beautiful woman, a woman that he had been granted full rights over, would trigger such a powerful physical response.

_Desire_ – he had felt desire.

And, he had to laugh at himself, she had somehow also managed to generate other warm feelings – he’d wanted to take care of her, provide for her, protect her.

Certainly, even if he’d had the time to devote to her, the squalid conditions of the Brick Waystation were not good enough for his new lady. She deserved the finest sheets, clean fresh-smelling linen, silken coverlets. He wanted to see her in creamy lace and silky voile with her rich russet hair curling down around her shoulders.

No, he had never anticipated that passion might ever play a part in this marriage. Hell, he had never anticipated that there would even be a marriage when he had first begun to seek out a way to be granted access to the road that led to the Avonlea quarry.

“I’ll be fine,” he told the Soumak’s captain.

Grumwald nodded. “With this wind, we should be at Safe Harbor in a couple of hours.”

“That should give me enough time,” Stiltskin muttered to himself. Enough time for his body to cool down and his head to clear. He had dark business to address.    

 

**Evening at Brick Waystation**

Belle summoned one of the Brick Waystation’s serving wenches to assist her in getting out of her lacings, gently hanging her fragile wedding dress on the back of one of the chairs. Stiltskin had left in her possession, not only the letter for his majordomo but a purse with substantial funds – _enough funds to support her father’s estate for a month._

She tipped the girl a generous amount and obtained an easy promise to return at sunrise with breakfast and a willingness to assist her in re-dressing.

Alone in the room, Belle decided to keep on her undergarments, but she did remove her pistol from the holster just below her knee and the stiletto knife that she carried on her thigh. It seemed to her that Master Stiltskin was unfamiliar with weapons and would likely have been appalled _or perhaps amused_ to find his wife so armed.

_Yes, he certainly was an interesting man – the initial impression was that he was a dandy, more concerned about clothes and creature comforts than serious matters. But, she had noticed the clever writing box and food storage container in the carriage and had wondered if these had been his idea or if he had benefited from the talents of others. He certainly had to have some level of intelligence and commitment to manage his business empire._

_And . . . even though she had been told he would likely not make many demands of her, his kiss had turned heated rather quickly and there had been a moment when she thought she might have seen something like the ember of passion spark in his eyes. He’d banked it quickly and left abruptly._  

Now, clad only in her chemise and pantaloons, she inspected the bedsheets. They, at least, appeared to be clean. She extinguished the gas lights and slipped between the cool sheets.

_This was supposed to have been her wedding night. She had been so nervous and unsure of herself. Oh, she knew what was likely to occur, having been raised on a working farm, she knew how the male would mount the female and give her his seed. But she wasn’t quite sure how the mechanics of this would work with humans. Without her mother, she lacked a trusted female to offer advice and with whom to confide. There had been those women who had sternly advised her to close her eyes and remember her duty, telling her that children would be her reward for submitting to the demands of her husband. There had also been those sly few who had suggested that a man with a certain level of experience might be capable of offering more than just a moment of rutting between the sheets._

_That had intrigued her, but she hadn’t an inkling of what things might involve -- until her husband had kissed her._

_Now, lying in the darkened room, in the cold bed, she again revisited The Kiss. It was not what she had expected, not anything like what she had expected, certainly not given his reputation as a fop. His kiss at the altar, such as it was, had only been an austere brushing of his lips against hers, with no more emotion that had he brushed against her elbow. But in the attic room, with his arms around her body, his lips had fastened on to hers and he’d taken possession. She had felt a growing heat in her stomach and a sense of dizziness and something else, something like hunger, something like nothing she had never felt._

_She was almost looking forward to reuniting with her husband. Perhaps he would kiss her like that again._

**The White Waystation**

It was a day of lonely riding. Belle noticed the roads were in much better shape than in her own land, paved, often with curbs, sometimes even with maintained walking paths paralleling the roads. Belle also explored the remarkable carriage in which she rode and found blankets and extra pillows under her seat, as well as a variety of things in the box Stiltskin had cleverly installed by the other seat. Along with writing paper and a place for food and drink, she’d found a couple of books ( _had her new husband placed them in the carriage for her or were these volumes that he was reading?}_. She settled in, sometimes reading, sometimes working on her needlecraft, sometimes gazing out at the passing scenery. They stopped briefly a few times, twice to change horses and allow for the necessary.  

It was dark when they pulled into the White Station, so-called because someone had painted the plastered sides of the large building a creamy white. Belle made her way by an ebullient flower garden to get to the front door.  Inside, it was more luxurious than the Brick Station with soft chairs and cozy tables in the dining area. It was also more active, with a lively crowd of people populating the main room. It was apparently a gathering place for locals.

When Belle entered, she was initially greeted cordially, with smiles and waves, but when her coachman came in, the crowd grew suddenly quiet, drawing back. The coachman, a very large somber man, wore the livery of the Dark Castle and Belle speculated that he had been recognized and, in turn, these people assumed she had some relationship with the Master of the Dark Castle.

“Ma’am,” several of the men greeted her and then several of them paid for their meal and excused themselves. Others just openly stared at her. Belle was more than conscious that her hair was untidy and her clothes were wrinkled.

She smiled at everyone and was led to her room by a pretty, tall serving girl. Belle requested supper in her room and found the food markedly better than what she’d gotten at the Brick Waystation. When the girl returned to collect her dishes, Belle asked her to stay to help with her dress.  She generously tipped the tall girl who gushed.

“You’re the Master’s new housekeeper?” the girl asked her.

“I’m his wife,” Belle told the girl and she was greeted with a stunned look.

“I . . . I . . . I’m so sorry, milady,” the girl stuttered. “I had no idea. The Master’s been a bachelor for so long, most of us assumed he warn’t interested in th’ ladies. None of us had any notion that he would ever marry anyone.”

“I’m . . . I was . . . Lady French of Avonlea. I married Master Stiltskin yesterday. He had business in the capital to attend to and has sent me on to the Dark Castle.”

“Well, I can see why he might have married you. You’re very beautiful,” the girl said.

“Oh,” Belle was unused to having people remark on her appearance. “Well, thank you. I hope I find everyone as friendly and as welcoming as you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl replied and bobbed a curtsy.

“What is your name, miss?” Belle asked her, liking the friendly young woman.

“I’m Molly Lucas. Me granny runs this Waystation. Me sister’s Ruby. She works at Dark Castle as an upstairs maid.”

“Really? I’ll look forward to meeting her then. I haven’t much experience with Waystations, but this one seems to be well-run and maintained.”

“Yes, ma’am. Me granny takes some pride in whut she offers t’ customers. She’s th’ best cook around an’ this place is so clean you could eat off th’ floors.”

“That’s good to know,” Belle told her.

“You’ve got a ways t’ go tomorrow. I’ll bring you Granny’s most fortifyin’ breakfast t’morrow mornin’,” Molly promised and scampered out.

Belle imagined the loquacious serving girl informing everyone of her status. But she was also curious that Miss Molly had assumed she was Stiltskin’s new housekeeper – _why not his latest doxy? Unless the rumors were true and he didn’t keep doxies._

**The Dark Castle**

It was very early the next morning when Belle roused. As she’d promised, Molly came in bearing a stalwart breakfast and stayed to help Belle back into her wedding dress. Belle thought the poor dress, which had been delicate to begin with, was beginning to show the effects of the journey – she thought likely that she herself was beginning to look increasingly tired and worn out.

The dress had originally been her grandmother’s and had been altered once to fit her mother and then again to fit her own petite frame. It was silk and had once been a brilliant gold. Despite its age and wear, it was still the nicest dress she owned.

She had recognized that, compared to Master Stiltskin’s attire, it was shabby. She had never felt shame at her family’s poverty before, but she had been painfully aware of how their lack of financial resources was evident during the wedding ceremony. It wasn’t just her hand-me-down dress, it was the worn seat cushions in the church, the frayed altar cloths, the tired feel of the wooden pews and the weathered status of the church itself. Everything was clean and tidy, but nothing was fresh or new.

She finished dressing and sat while Molly combed out and styled her hair. By the time Molly had finished, her hair hung in ringlets around her face, much of it drawn back from her face. _Belle couldn’t help to hope that her sister Ruby was as talented with hairdressing. It might be nice to have someone help her prepare her appearance._

Belle then ate the fine breakfast and went downstairs to personally thank and tip the staff for making her stay so pleasurable. She met up with her stoic, silent coachman to continue the journey.

By now, the roads were in excellent shape, obviously well-maintained with frequent road signs and amenities here and there. It was well past afternoon when, peering out the window of the carriage, she spotted the tall towers of the Dark Castle. It was indeed dark, built of some blackened stone and rising above the forest that surrounded it.

They began to ascend a hill, getting closer to the huge structure. Belle could see that there were greater numbers of houses, some of them quite large, along the road to the castle gate. The coach slowed as they began to go through the town, through the bright and bustling market center, that lay just outside of the castle’s walls. The gates of the castle were opened and they rode through these. They continued on for a while before ending up before a second set of gates, these leading to the main, central part of the castle. The gates opened after a moment and they went through, continuing on the road, bearing down on the main castle keep.

When the carriage slowed to a stop, the coachman alighted and helped her out. The keep door swung open and several people in dark uniforms rushed out.

“Oh my, Lady Stiltskin, is that you?” an older, sweet-faced woman was at the forefront of the well-dressed cadre of people, evidently all household staff. “We’d ‘eard that you was quite th’ beauty,” the woman told her smiling widely. “Now, I’m Mrs. Potts, child. My, you’ve come all th’ way from your father’s estate in jus’ three days. What a journey. Tell me what you need first, food? a bath? a change o’ clothing? Jus’ let me know.”

Belle gave her a gracious smile, “I’d like to take a few moments to see the house and grounds if it’s not too much trouble and then . . . perhaps . . . a late lunch . . . or early supper whichever it might be . . .  and a bath. I am covered with road grime.”

A tall, slender man stepped forward and bowed. “Of course, Lady Stiltskin. I’m Jefferson. Allow me to show you around while Mrs. Potts sets things aright and prepares for you.” And he winked at her.

Belle took his arm and followed him as he walked her around the castle.

“We’re mostly ready for your arrival, of course,” he said in a low tone, “but I know Mrs. Potts will appreciate a little extra time to get things exactly right.”

Belle couldn’t help but immediately like the affable majordomo. He was friendly and was quickly putting her at ease. 

He described the buildings as they walked slowly around. “This is a castle originally built for war, a fortress rather than a home. There is an outer thick curtain wall with multiple towers that encompass the entire structure and then another thick wall that surrounds the main estate. Inside the inner walls, there are stables, gardens, and a number of small houses for castle workers, as well as the main house.” He added, “Mr. Stiltskin has made a number of improvements since he inherited the castle.”

“It’s lovely,” she told him. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this . . . this is much nicer.”

“The same might be said of you,” he said quietly.

Belle was surprised, “Sir?”

“I was, of course, aware of Master Stiltskin’s plan to propose marriage to you and I knew of your acceptance.”

“Oh,” Belle suddenly remembered. “I have a letter for you from the master,” and she handed the missive over.

Jefferson opened it and glanced through it. He glanced at Belle a couple of times.  

“Do you know what’s in this?” he asked her.

Belle bit her lip. “He said that he was going to ask you to arrange for a dressmaker to come and make me some clothes.”

The tall, young man looked at her and then slowly nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s what he requested.” He sighed. “I’m sure Mrs. Potts has managed to set the house aright. What say you and I return to the main house?” And he bowed and offered his arm.

Belle took his arm and in the waning light walked back to the main house.

It took her breath away. They walked into an enormous hall with high, arched ceilings, dark wooden beams stark against creamy plaster. The floors were polished wood with beautiful carpets spread here and there. The walls were covered with some rich damask fabrics and there were brilliant gas lights everywhere. At the moment, the entire household staff was lined up for her inspection.

Belle was introduced to each person and quickly committed their names and jobs to her memory. Due to the family resemblance, she recognized Ruby before the introduction and Belle let her know she’d met her sister at the Waystation.

Ruby curtsied, “Yes, mum. Molly’s quite the chatterbox, but she’s good at lotsa things. We learned t’ do hair practicing on each other.”

“Perhaps I’ll have an opportunity to see if you can do as well as she did,” Belle told the woman who seemed to be about her own age.

Ruby beamed and nodded exuberantly.

“We’re so happy that Master Stiltskin has seen fit to bring a wife into this house,” Mrs. Potts interjected. “This place could certainly use a woman’s touch. Now,” she turned back to the staff, “everyone, be off with you. I have t’ get Lady Stiltskin a bit o’ food an’ allow her t’ take a warm bath. She’s been on th’ road for three days an’ I’m sure she’s exhausted.” And Mrs. Potts ushered Belle into the dining hall, another spacious room with polished wood, thick rugs, and brilliant lights. At one end, to the side of the table, a place had been set.

Belle recognized fine china when she saw it. She also recognized delicious food when she smelt it. What was the chef’s name, now? Tony?  She sat down and, oh my, yes, the food was excellent _– no wonder Stiltskin had been less than impressed with the food at the Brick Waystation_. Belle ate the food, finding it different, but good with subtle flavors from exotic spices.

“It’s one o’ th’ Master’s favorites,” Mrs. Potts explained. “Something he brought back from some o’ his travels.”

After her meal, Belle was shown her bedroom. Immediately next to the bedchamber was a bathing apartment, complete with a bathtub, now filled with steaming water. Ruby helped her undress and caught sight of the gun and knife Belle kept on her person.

“I come from a rural, even wild, homestead, Ruby. I learned to keep these around for protection,” she explained to the maid who’d seemed surprised at finding a lady so armed.

Ruby nodded, “Not a bad idea, mum.” Then she added, “We may not be so rural and we’re not wild, but it’s not a bad idea to keep something around for protection even here.”

Belle was still considering Ruby’s words as she slipped into the hot soapy water and began her soak, her limbs relaxing for the first time since  . . . well, since she had first read Master Stiltskin’s letter proposing marriage. She found a lovely long cotton gown waiting for her when she finally got out of the tub and made her way to the bed, slipping between the fine linen sheets. The soft pillows and pleasantly plump mattress were most comfortable, and she quickly drifted off to sleep.

**Rumors**

Belle was up early the next morning and was delighted to find some fresh clothes had been set out for her. She slipped on the simple pantaloons and plain chemise top and then rang for assistance. Ruby was at her door in a heartbeat.

“I hope these’ll be all right, mum,” Ruby told her gesturing to the white shift and simple blue over-dress. “Mrs. Potts saw you didn’t have any luggage and she didn’t think it the best choice for you to be back in your wedding dress. These be plenty clean and we both thought they’d fit you.”

“They are lovely,” Belle assured Ruby. She recognized that the dress was servant’s clothing, but it was clean and fit reasonably well. She slipped the little garments on, just grateful to finally be out of her wedding dress. Ruby combed out her hair and, at Belle’s request, just pulled it back, fastening it behind her neck so that it flowed down her back.

“I’m thinking that Mr. Jefferson is making arrangements for Miss Giselle to come out and help with your wardrobe, but that probably won’t be until tomorrow,” Ruby told her and then smiled, “I’m sure, right now, you’ll be wanting something to eat.”

Belle nodded, the two women stepping out of the bedroom. “Which direction is the dining room?”

Ruby laughed, “This is a big place, isn’t it?” She was about to say more when an austere older man rounded the corner, frowning at Ruby.

“Mr. Cogsworth,” Ruby nodded and gave a quick curtsey.

He scowled at her and walked by. The two women then looked at each other and both giggled.

“Is he always so disapproving?” Belle asked in a whisper.

“Yes, mum, at least of me an’ my antics.”

Once down the stairs, Belle thought she might have been to find her own way to the kitchens just by using her sense of smell.

“You’ll be wanting breakfast in the small dining room?” Ruby asked.

“No . . . well, if I won’t be any trouble, I would like to eat in the kitchen.”

Ruby stood silently a moment but then nodded. “Yes, mum.”

Belle, feeling like she might have breached protocol, explained herself. “I’m used to eating in the kitchen at Avonlea. The staff is small and everyone works together.”

Ruby nodded again, but under her breath, she muttered, “Could be worth it t’ watch Cogsworth have a fit of apoplexy.”

The kitchen was in the back of the house and most of the staff were already sitting along both sides of a long wooden table. Next to the table was a bountiful buffet that allowed each person to serve themselves.

Everyone stopped talking when she came in and turned to look at her.

“Oh, Lady Stiltskin, I had no idea you was up an’ around already,” Mrs. Potts apologized standing up. “Allow me t’ fix you a plate.”

Belle looked at the buffet and picked up a plate for herself, “I believe I understand how this works,” she told Mrs. Potts. “I know it’s customary for the lady of the house to eat separately, but I’m used to dining with my staff at breakfast and going over the plans for the day,” she said brightly as she finished filling her plate. _She was very much aware that everyone was watching her._ “Since I’m unused to the routines and all the jobs involved in this house, I think I may have to be more content to listen for the time being.”

Several of the staff looked at each other and then shrugged.

“If that’s what you’d like t’ do, Lady Stiltskin, we’re fine with that.  We’ll make room fur you at th’ table,” said one smiling young man. He shifted over.

“You’re Gladfellow?” she asked, remembering the name from her introductions yesterday.

He nodded, obviously flattered that she had remembered his name. “Yes, mum. I’m a general dogsbody. I help out where ever I’m needed.”

“I’m sure you’re most appreciated,” Belle told him, sitting down next to him. She scooted in between the landskeeper who kept sniffing and sneezing and young Gladfellow.  Across from her sat one of the horse groomers who couldn’t manage to make eye contact for even a second. Belle smiled at him and the bashful man blushed red.

Belle then turned her attention to Mrs. Potts who was going over the duties for the day.

It was an impressive list, covering both the main house and everything that happened on the expansive grounds. Mrs. Potts would describe a job and wait for someone to volunteer; obviously, some people had definite job preferences. Some of the staff clearly had regular tasks and were spared any additional duties. When Mrs. Potts got to dusting the library, there was absolute silence.

“Is there a problem with working in the library?” Belle spoke for the first time since sitting down.

“Oh ma’am, yes. It’s very, very dark and very, very dusty. It’s also so very quiet there an’ often people feel uncomfortable, ‘fraid they might damage something,” Mrs. Potts explained.

“It’s haunted,” Belle heard someone whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Belle deals with an unwelcome guest (without stabbing him).  
> Rumple struggles with his business commitments and the distraction that is his new wife.


	3. A New Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle deals with an un-welcomed guest (without stabbing him).  
> Rumple struggles with his business commitments and the distraction that is his new wife.

 

“Haunted?!” Belle exclaimed.

“Shush with that, you,” Mrs. Potts told the speaker sternly. Belle wasn’t sure who had whispered the warning. Mrs. Potts, now looking uncomfortable, explained. “The library was the favorite room of the old Duke Zoso who . . . well, it’s said he hung himself in that room after he’d gambled away the property to the old Master Stiltskin.”

“Really?” Belle was intrigued.

“Of course, there’s no ghost.” Mrs. Potts glowered at several of the servants who sunk into their chairs. “That’s all talk by some ignorant peasants who don’t appreciate th’ opportunity they was given when they was asked t’ come in work in th’ Dark Castle.”

“I would like to see this library,” Belle told her. “And, if you all won’t be too scandalized, I would be happy to run a dust cloth over the place.”

“Oh, Miss, th’ Master would have me hide if he knew I’d allowed you t’ take on one o’ th’ household chores,” Mrs. Potts told her.

“Well, he’s not here,” Belle told her. “And, just so you are aware, he specifically mentioned the library as one of the rooms I would want to see.”

Ms. Potts nodded reluctantly.

**The Library**

Belle had learned more about the library’s history. It was generally kept shut off as there weren’t any avid readers in the household. Some years ago, one of the staff had heard some noises coming from the room but when they had investigated had not found anyone. Over time, other staff had heard noises and sometimes would find that things had been moved around. It hadn’t taken long for the haunted reputation to take root and grow so that now it was firmly planted in household lore.

And so, Belle found herself agape as she stood still, gazing around the room holding a dust cloth in hand. She had expected to find a standard sized room with a couple of dozen books.

But this place was enormous. It was nearly as large as any three rooms in her family’s home and there were books, so many books, floor to ceiling books, aisles with twists and turns, layered with books and more books.  

She stood for a while just gazing up and around herself, turning round and round until she was dizzy.

But the place was so dark -- like it was in mourning – too dark for a library. She began to pull the curtains back, or at least try to pull them back. She thought they might have been nailed in place. With some effort, she finally jerked one of the curtains, tearing it away from the window sash, tearing it in half across the window, the fabric fragile and brittle from age. She cleaned up as she could, now able to pull the remnants of the curtain away from the frame. She tied it back to give her some natural light. She began the chore she’d volunteered to do but was continuously distracted by different volumes. She began to pull off the ones she thought she might want to read, but after her second, tall stack, she knew she’d have to restrain herself.

She stopped for lunch and was making her way back to the kitchen, cutting through the main hall when she was confronted by a tall, dark-haired man sporting a single earring. He was well-dressed in black -- black leather pants, a black leather vest and a black shirt – dressy clothing, not the sedate uniform of the Dark Castle’s staff.

He was pretty enough, but something about him made her wary.

“Well,” he’d spotted her. “Aren’t you a tasty little pastry? For a poofer, the man certainly manages to hire the most attractive maids.”

Belle realized that this man was there visiting and had mistaken her for one of the household staff, not surprising given how she was dressed and, likely, the amount of dust that was now in her hair and on her clothes.

“Are ye here t’ see th’ Master?” she asked him, playing along with his misperception.

“If he’s here. The man’s like trying to pin down the wind – he’s never where anyone says he is. But I’m sure I’ll eventually get around to speaking with the lily. Actually though, I was passing through on my way to Lamorack and I’d stopped at White Station where I learned that there is a new Lady of the house. I was here to meet her and pay my respects, but . . .” he was looking her up and down, “I think I’d rather spend time with you. I’m certain that whatever bland, little, titled pie-face that fop Stiltskin was able to convince to act as his beard, well, I’m certain that you are much more interesting, certainly more easy on the eyes.” He moved in and Belle moved back.

“Does Mr. Jefferson know you’re here?” she asked, her hand dropping to the hilt of her stiletto laced to her thigh under her skirts.

“Yes, he’s looking for said titled, pie-face,” the pretty boy told her. Belle continued to back-step and dodge the man, but he was like an octopus. He’d gotten her backed up against some of the furniture when Jefferson came back in.

“Your Lordship!” he called out. “What are you doing?”

His Lordship didn’t back off, “Trying to sample this delicious little strumpet. She’s dancing a pretty step though.”

“I would think so, sir,” Jefferson told him dourly. “This is the Countess Isabella French, now known as Lady Stiltskin.”

That seemed to give his Lordship pause. He looked over Belle, “But she’s dressed like a servant? I don’t understand.”

“Temporary wardrobe malfunction,” Jefferson explained and moved in to extricate Belle from the man’s clutches. “Ma’am,” he turned to Belle, “this reprobate is the Archduke Roger Jones, known as Killian to his familiars.”

Belle dropped into a perfect, little curtsy, “Your Lordship,”

“Well, she certainly has the dainty manners of a countess,” Killian observed. He looked at Jefferson, “Where’s Stiltskin?”

“The Master is involved with business. He is in the capital at the moment,” Jefferson replied.

“Well, too bad he’s missing the latest,” Killian began. “That bloody sky pirate, the Dark One, has struck again. He took down one of my ships and fired on one of Stiltskin’s.”

“Is that so?” Jefferson responded neutrally.

“Dark One?” Belle interrupted. Killian turned to her.

“Oh, my dear, you have been isolated,” he began. “The Dark One is a flying menace. The bastard has the fastest ship in the sky and seems to be able to go higher than anyone else. He seems to have inside information on what ship is carrying what cargo as he only goes after the plumpest vessels. He’s probably responsible for the scourge of Fairy Dust that’s sweeping the capital. The Emperor is about to declare him a Public Menace.”

“Well, he sounds awful, taking money from hard-working people,” Belle observed.

“Not entirely,” Jefferson explained. “He usually takes from the wealthy, and along with money, he takes medicine, food and then re-distributes his booty among the deserving poor.”

“So they say,” Killian disagreed. “I think that’s just a story one of his people started.”

“Perhaps. But the Dark One is quite the hero among many of the common folk – which is probably why the Emperor will be going after him. He’s more popular than the royal family and the vast majority of nobles,” Jefferson clarified.

“Well, he’s still a thief,” Killian protested. “If those deserving poor were so deserving, they would have found a way to earn an honest living.”

Belle considered. She knew among her own people that the willingness to work hard was not the problem. Often crops failed through no fault of the farmer. Her people had simply run out of other resources – food and medicine would be very welcome, probably more so than money as there really wasn’t anywhere to spend the money.

“Well, here we are talking about Man Things in front of this pretty woman,” Killian re-directed the conversation. “I’m sure she’d rather hear about the latest fashions and some of the parties that are being planned for the new season.”

Inside Belle bristled, but she had learned to school herself after many years of conversations with her father’s advisors. Instead, she smiled, “Your Lordship, forgive me. I am still becoming accustomed to the ways of this large estate. Jefferson, would you ask Mrs. Potts to prepare us some tea?” And she turned back to the Archduke, “You will join me for refreshment?”

“Sure, got nowhere else to go,” Killian responded.

Jefferson had been watching her, noting her reaction to Killian’s patronizing remark. After Killian had accepted her invitation, he nodded and gave Belle a short bow. “Of course, ma’am. The Yellow Drawing Room – the one down the main hall to your left, with the patio and view of the garden – will be suitable for you to entertain his lordship.”

Belle was thankful. Relying on her memory and Jefferson’s directions, she was able to make her way directly to the bright, sunshiny little room with Killian tagging along.

He promptly flopped down onto the lounger, a pillowed and plush affair covered with dull gold velvet and edged in thick tassels of golden silk.

“You are well acquainted with my husband?” she asked the man, sitting herself on the edge of a tapestried-covered divan, as far away as she could manage without appearing rude.

“I guess. We have different interests – I like more manly activities, like hunting, swordplay . . . . He rides some but is more into cardplaying and, well, you already know, he has a hand in trade,” Killian was clearly repulsed by the idea of making an honest living. Then he added, “You know your husband is rumored to have his hand in some particularly unsavory dealings. Hell, he’s probably waist-deep in this Fairy Dust trade.”

“So, what is your relationship with my husband?” Belle chose to ignore Killian’s last remark. _Fairy Dust – that must be what people were calling the dried secretions from the nimbus poppy. She had always just called it Dust._

Killian hesitated, but then smiled at her. “Some years ago, I made a . . . mis-step . . . a small miscalculation and . . . I . . . I over-extended myself. I didn’t want to go to the old man, who was alive at the time, and . . . well, Rumple floated me a loan.”

“Oh,” was all Belle said.

“There have been a . . . few other times when there have been some . . . uh . . . awkward financial situations and he’s bailed me out there too.”

“Oh,” Belle repeated herself. _So, this man was a ‘friend’ of her husband but only because of her husband’s money._

_Well, given her current situation, she couldn’t really look down on the Duke. She was Stiltskin’s wife because of the man’s money._

The Duke kept up a whining patter, stopping only to add some of her husband’s whiskey to his tea – apparently, the Duke had spent some time in this particular sitting room and knew his way around the liquor cabinet. Belle listened, smiled and nodded. She was bored to tears – the man was a pompous oaf. Had he not been born a Duke, he would likely have been the village buffoon, a loud-mouth who took credit for more than he’d done, a bully when he could be and a bore when things were quiet.

She invited him to spend the night at Dark Castle. When she made the request to Jefferson, he shared that the Duke’s room had already been prepared – yes, indeed, the man was a frequent guest.

She and the Duke shared a light supper, again in the Yellow Drawing Room.

The Duke had drunk more than his ration of Stiltskin’s liquor. He was closely watching Belle.

“I’d heard he’d married a country beauty but I discounted those rumors. I never thought a country beauty would be particularly exceptional and, even if she was, I didn’t think that even his money would have been enough to get a true beauty into his bed. Of course, you two were just married and he’s not here, so . . . I guess you get his money and you don’t have to put up with him diddling you . . . if he can even perform with a woman.”

“Your Lordship,” Belle nearly stood. She had brought in her needlework, a seemly activity when entertaining a guest, but for the past half hour had had to restrain herself from stabbing the man with her dainty embroidery scissors. The man was being offensive.

“Well, you did know the man is not only a fop, more concerned with the cut of his waistcoat and the knot in his necktie. Did you not suspect that he was a Nancy-boy, a Mary-sarder?” The Archduke wasn’t attending to her, just blithering on. “I’d think a healthy young woman like yourself would already be looking for someone to . . . help her out.

“Your Lordship, I don’t believe this is an appropriate conversation . . .” Belle began, but it was like she hadn’t spoken.

“Oh, come on. Someone who looks like you? You’ve probably been entertaining the stable lads since you started bleeding.”

Belle stood. “Why don’t I play the pianoforte for you?” She walked over to the instrument, stopping to pull the bell cord, requesting a servant.

_She could just go ahead and stab him. Unless she was unlucky she probably wouldn’t hit a major artery with her little scissors and actually kill the blighter. But then she’d have to pass it all off as an unfortunate accident and then arrange for him to be nursed back to health. He’d have to stay at Dark Castle while he recuperated._

_No, better not to stab him._

She sat on the stool in front of the instrument, admiring the light wood and carvings as well as the large silk fringed and exquisitely embroidered cloth that covered it. As she began a simple tune there was a discrete knock at the door and Jefferson came in. He quickly surveyed the situation and nodded at Belle.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to intrude, but you had asked me to remind you that you have an early morning appointment with the modiste.”

Belle stood gratefully. “Oh yes, I had forgotten. Jefferson, could you make sure that the Archduke gets whatever he wants to drink and gets to his bedroom whenever he’s ready to retire?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Jefferson nodded and slipped between herself and the Archduke who had nearly passed out on the velvet lounger.

Belle made her apologies and then went on to her room. She locked her door, somehow not entirely trusting the Duke.

**Morning**

She actually did have an early morning appointment and after reassurances from Jefferson that the Archduke had been seen to, she ate a quick breakfast, snatching some bread and bacon from the buffet and getting herself a cup of tea.

Madame Giselle, the couturier, arrived early that morning in a flurry of fabric and finery. Belle found herself in her bedroom standing in her undergarments and having her measurements taken. Scattered all over the room were scraps of cloth, bits of ribbon and sundry drawings. Jefferson, who didn’t seem bothered or scandalized by the sight of her in her skimpies, stayed buried in conference with the dress designer. He gave orders for morning dresses, day dresses, evening dresses, dresses for riding, for walking, for dancing. He spared Belle a glance and began a second conversation regarding proper undergarments.

The couturier took copious notes, made her own suggestions, argued with Jefferson, and likely walked away with the largest order she’d ever had.

“I’m overwhelmed,” Belle confessed when she’d been given a break in the early afternoon. She had been standing still for several hours while the measurements had been taken and confirmed and different fabrics were repeatedly draped across her, held up to her face to judge if the color was suitable.

“This was possibly the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done,” she announced, her body aching from standing and posing. “And I’ve made soap, weeded a thistle field and sheared the occasional goat.”

“You did well,” Jefferson complimented her. “I shall be letting the Master know that you will soon have a suitable wardrobe. Mistress Giselle will have a couple of dresses ready for you very soon and the remaining garments will be sent on to the townhouse in the capital.”

“You’re in communication with the Master?” she had to ask.

“I send him a daily missive,” Jefferson admitted.

“Oh my,” Belle wasn’t sure how to take this. “You’re spying on me?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he admitted. “It’s my job to keep the Master apprised of what is happening in his home. You are now a part of his home.” Jefferson leaned in and grinned, “If it helps any, I’ll be sending him a glowing report on how you managed Killian.”

“Thank you. I’ve been trained to entertain and be charming to others.”

“You did well with the Duke,” Jefferson assured her. “And you’ll be relieved to know that after rising at the crack of noon, he was fed and sent off with apologies that you were not able to attend him because of your other commitments.”

“I . . . I didn’t like him,” she confessed.

“That’s all right. The Master doesn’t like him either, but he is someone the Master wants in his debt.”

“I think I understand. Even though the Master doesn’t have the bloodlines, someone like the Duke can open doors.”

“Exactly.”

Belle hesitated. “I was considering stabbing him with my embroidery scissors,” she confessed.

Jefferson nodded and smiled. “Perhaps another time?”

**Settling In**

It had been a week and Belle had already received a letter from her father.

Lord Stiltskin had been busy.

He’d already set up a fund and there was now fresh seed and money to buy new farming equipment as it was needed. There were several other projects that were already in the incipient stages, including a road paving initiative which employed a number of her people, adult women, older men and older boys and girls were all being offered full and part-time employment. And site selection for an airpad had begun.

Among the other projects that her father told her Stiltskin wanted to get going were several construction works (including building a school). There was also to be an effort to dig a new well, to fence in the township commons meadow to be used as a community goat pasture and there was active discussion on initiating an apprentice program so that promising youth, both male and female, could be trained in different crafts.

The first few young men, hearing there would be work available, had begun to trickle in and some of Stiltskin’s people had put them to work building barracks and a dining hall. One of her own people had re-opened the town’s tavern and was hard at work beginning to brew the local brand of beer.

Even though it had only been a week, Stiltskin had written to her father about his desire to reopen the marble yards. The roads up to the quarry would need re-paving and the worker quarters that had fallen into disrepair during their long abandonment would have to be rebuilt. Evidently, Stiltskin felt there could be new markets for Avonlea’s distinct and exclusive pink marble.

It did seem that Stiltskin was keeping his end of the arrangement.

Belle bit her lip and cautiously wrote her first letter to her husband thanking him for his prompt actions on behalf of her people, letting him know that his staff had been lovely and kind and that she was enjoying his library. She asked Jefferson to include her letter in with his missives.

**In Receipt of Her Letter**

Rumple had known the letter was from _her_ even before he opened it. It smelled like her, faintly of roses and vanilla and something else that was uniquely the woman herself. He allowed himself a moment to drink in her fragrance, pressing the envelope to his nose.

It was short and to the point, gracious without being effusive. He smelled the letter again.

He looked up and around himself. Here, he sat alone although surrounded by many others. Here, he was enveloped by raucous, dragging, and clanking noises. Here, he was inundated by the smells of creosote, tobacco, and alcohol-saturated sweat.

He’d foolishly thought that being away from her for a week would cool his blood, but instead, he’d been hammered with erotic night sweats and now this little letter was going to make it hard for him to get through the day without being distracted by further thoughts of his bride. He pulled out his whiskey and took a long drink. He absolutely needed to finish this next step before re-connecting with the woman. But now, he was beginning to wonder if he would survive and not have his head explode.

He took another drink and scratched out a response.

“To my lady wife, you’re most welcome,” was all he could scrawl out.

**Secrets in The Dark Castle**

Over the next few weeks, Belle’s life quickly became well-ordered and predictable.

She learned a lot about staff but puzzled over Cogsworth’s role, finally asking Jefferson. He told her that the man was the retired majordomo, and he tended to wander through the house, puttering around and overseeing everyone else doing their jobs.

Belle made a point to defer to the old man thereafter, always thanking him for his attention to duty. He remained gruff with her, never smiling, but she really did think he appreciated her compliments.

She had been quick to adopt a new routine. Missing the strenuous schedule of her previous life in Avonlea, she took to rising very early and riding across the Master’s grounds. She got to know the landscape, the creeks, the back roads, the hillsides, the level pasturelands. She would then share breakfast with the staff, listen to complaints and resolve minor conflicts. She would hear chores and duties doled out and would sometimes elect to assist with tasks.

Belle most enjoyed those mornings when she and Mrs. Potts would walk down through the town to shop, buying from the common tradesmen. She often engaged the shopkeepers in deep conversations, asking them insightful questions to determine their skill level and judge the quality of their work. She especially liked to visit with young merchants, unsure of themselves, their businesses teetering on a knifepoint, trying to compete and establish themselves. She recognized that her patronage could make (or break) new enterprises and took care to give them some proportion of her time and money. News that the new Lady of the Castle was not only beautiful but kind and knowledgeable spread quickly and the townspeople began to greet her with enthusiasm.

Afternoons, she spent in the library, never encountering any semblance of a ghost, no odd sounds, no finding things had been moved. She sometimes dusting the room, but mostly she sat and read through some of the housekeeping tomes, the medical journals, the philosophical rants, and even the novels she had located. She would write her letters to her father and her husband letting them know small details and happenings. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her husband’s brusque replies. She wasn’t sure if they were cold or if the man had difficulties expressing himself; she sometimes felt as if her letters might be an intrusion – _but she continued writing them._

After that first week, Belle was mostly able to find her way around the great house, finding so many rooms, most of them shut up and gathering dust. She did find one room that intrigued her. There was clothing that would fit a child and some toys, toys a young boy might play with.

Jefferson came upon her as she stood in the room.

“Ma’am, this is a room better left closed,” he said gently.

“Whose room was this?” she asked. “It looks like a child, a boy might have lived here.”

“A boy did,” Jefferson told her.

“But . . . but, what happened?”

Jefferson broke eye contact with her. “The Master was married . . . before you . . . a long time ago. It was . . . it was not a happy marriage. There was a son, Baedon, Bae.”

Belle expected to hear the worse.

“The Master’s wife began to . . . compromise her marriage vows with different men. The Master loved her and didn’t want to accept that she was being unfaithful. He kept trying to make things better between them, but only succeeded in making things worse. She finally left him and took their son with them.”

“Where is she . . . ? Where is the boy now?”

“She filled the boy’s head with all manner of specious nonsense concerning his father and . . . he’s now an adult and refuses contact with the Master.”

“And what . . . what happened to his wife?”

“She was able to use her family connections, which were considerable, and obtain an annulment. She then married the Archduke Roger Jones.”

Belle took this in and nodded. “I shall not enter this room again,” she told the Master’s majordomo.

Then there was the morning that another letter came from her husband. It contained a single abrupt command, “Come to Hadensburg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a scandalous encounter with the Dark Man.  
> Belle finds Brookstry, Stiltskin’s city estate, quite different from the Dark Castle.


	4. Blue Skies and a Pink House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a scandalous encounter with the Dark Man.  
> Belle finds Brookstry, Stiltskin’s city estate, quite different from the Dark Castle.

Carrying her husband’s curt missive in hand, Belle returned to her room. She found Jefferson was already packing her clothing. He let her know that many of her clothes were already in the city, so she would only need to take a few things for the journey. 

“The Master is sending an airship. I will accompany you to the city,” he added.

“Oh,” she said. “I take it, he asked you to come?”

Jefferson stopped, straightened up and answered, “Yes, ma’am. The master relies on me to help him with a number of activities.”

“Would he rather see you than me?” she asked in a small voice.

Rather than answering immediately, Jefferson stopped and stared at her.

“I think . . . I think he is anxious to see you again, ma’am. As you are aware, I’ve been spying on you and I send him regular reports – all very positive -- regarding your activities. I think you . . . intrigue him.”

Belle felt a small shiver go up her spine. _She was not sure if intriguing her new husband was a good thing or not._

She watched Jefferson competently finish packing her travel clothing. Before he closed the case, she slipped several books into the portmanteau. Jefferson caught the action and just shook his head and smiled.

“Will you be ready?” he asked her. “The ship will be here before noon. We’ll get lunch on board.”

Belle nodded. She realized that she couldn’t stop herself from grinning. _An airship! She was going to be on an airship! How exciting!_

Jefferson hesitated, then picked up something that had been lain on the bed. “Here, ma’am. Best if you put these on under your dress. The wind is fierce on an airship and can . . . compromise a lady’s . . . modesty.”

Belle saw that he was handing her a pair of trousers. Delighted, once Jefferson had left, she slipped them on under the petticoats and skirt of her dress. She found them quite comfortable.

Soon enough, she was standing in the garden next to the landing pad when she spotted the ship. It was a Skinliner, the _Soumak_ , one of the smaller, swift vessels that Stiltskin used in his fleet of merchant ships. They specialized in shipping goods – and occasionally people.  There were any number of grounds staff gathered around who swiftly tethered the ship.

“Can you climb the rope ladder or will you need to ride up in a harness?” Jefferson asked her. Belle considered. She was a healthy girl, but perhaps not the most coordinated. She opted for a harness and, as she was pulled aboard, she watched as Jefferson quickly shimmied up the rope ladder to climb aboard the vessel. He was on deck to help her, unfastening the secure harness. 

“Your portmanteau will be pulled on board and we’ll be off,” he told her.

Immediately, once she was on board, given the stout winds that blew about, she was grateful for Jefferson’s guidance with the under-trousers. She found herself looking around. It was clearly a working vessel, but she was fascinated by the fixtures, the riggings, the entire gondola of the ship – even the smells intrigued her.

“Mum,” a gruff man approached her. “I’m Captain Grumwald. We’ll be getting’ to th’ capital tomorrow mornin’ if’n th’ winds hold. I’d like t’ be showing you yer quarters.”

“Thank you, sir,” she beamed at the man, obviously causing him some discomfort.  She followed him and was led into a very small room with a single cot that was fastened to the wall. 

The captain apologized, “We don’t generally get no female passengers.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Captain. Thank you.” She hesitated. “I would like to spend some time looking over the ship. I’ve never flown on an airship and . . . well, they’re beautiful.”

Now she had thoroughly discomforted the captain. “Well, mum, of course.  I could probably get Jefferson t’ show you ‘round.”

“That would be lovely. I wouldn’t want to take any of your men away from their posts,” she told him. She had decided she liked the short, gruff captain. 

He shuffled and nodded and excused himself. In a few moments, there was a knock on the door; it was Jefferson carrying a small basket.

“The Captain said you wanted a tour of the ship?”

“I did if I’m not being too much trouble. This is all so new to me,” she told her husband’s majordomo.

“We’ll have lunch first,” and Jefferson opened the basket and began to pull out sandwiches and a jarred root salad with some vanilla custard and fruit for good measure. There was some cold tea to drink.

“Like a picnic!” she told him, finding the fresh, cool air had perked her appetite. “Thank Mrs. Potts . . . and you, too.”

“No trouble at all, ma’am.” After eating, Jefferson held the cabin door opened for her and she followed him out.

Jefferson told her all about different parts of the ship and shared about different jobs that the men on board did. They had been on board for nearly a half hour when Belle, gazing off, noticed something in the far distance.

“What is that?” she asked Jefferson and the Captain.

“What is what?” Jefferson asked her, straining his eyes in the direction she had pointed.

Captain Grumwald took a more direct approach. He held up a spyglass and looked. He somberly handed the spyglass to Jefferson who repeated the action.

“Is it another airship?” Belle asked the two men. It was just a tiny black speck against the blue and white sky.

Jefferson exchanged a glance with Grumwald, and then took Belle by the arm. “You need to retire to your cabin,” he instructed her.

“Why? What’s happening?”

 “That black speck. It’s the _Dark Soul_ ,” he told her. “The _Dark Soul_ , the ship of the Dark One.”

“How can you tell?”

“Its color. Other airships glint white or silver, even gold, in the sun. The _Dark Soul_ is black, like a hole in the sky,” he explained.

“It’s coming after us?” she asked.

“It is, indeed, and there isn’t any faster ship in the sky,” he said tightly. He began to lead her along the corridors. He opened the door of her own little cabin so that she could step inside. “Stay here,” he instructed. “The Dark One is not known for molesting women, but if he should find out that you’re Lady Stiltskin . . . well, he might consider holding you for ransom.”

Belle protested, “But are we not going to try to fight them off?”

“Not these pirates,” Jefferson told her, shaking his head. “They’re much, much better armed than we are. If we just let them board and take what they want, no one gets hurt. Otherwise . . .” he hesitated, “they will blow us out of the sky.”

Belle nodded, understanding, the seriousness of the situation dropping onto her. She stepped back as Jefferson shut the door, instructing her to lock herself in. She sat on the little cot. She considered getting out one of her books but realized she would never be able to attend to printed words.

_They were about to be boarded by pirates – notorious pirates._

At first, for a long while, there was nothing unusual. There was the gentle rocking of the ship and the whooshing of the air as it rushed around the ship.

But soon enough there were clanking sounds and she suspected that the _Dark Soul_ had caught up with the little merchant vessel and was being lashed to the larger ship in preparation for boarding. She could hear sounds and thudding footsteps.  This went on for a while. Belle sat quietly in her room, hoping, believing that there would be scurrying around for some time and, then, everything would just go away and the gentle rocking and peaceful whooshing sounds would return.

She was startled when the door to her room jiggled and then, when it didn’t open, there was a pause, and then the door nearly blew open.

A chubby man with a red cap scrutinized her.  “Oh my, th’ Cap’in will be wantin’ t’ meet you.” He held out his hand to her and, after hesitating for just a moment, Belle rose.

“Lead me to your captain, then,” she told the man, ignoring his hand.

He nodded and stepped away from the door. Belle followed him and soon found herself back on the main deck.

She spotted him instantly -- a slight man dressed in a dark Porosus leather coat wearing a large black hat, walking briskly back and forth on the deck, his boots clicking a steady, thumping patter. He was clearly well armed, with a pistol on one side and a sword on the other. She was brought before him and, once she was closer, she could see that he had covered his face with a black scarf. She couldn’t even see his eyes under the shadow of his hat brim.

He turned, moving with the grace of a dancer . . . _or a panther_ to scrutinize her.

“I found ‘er in one o’ th’ inside cabins, Cap’in,” Red-cap told him.

She knew the Dark One was looking her over. She thought she heard him mutter, “Pretty.” But in a louder, raspy voice, he asked her, “Who are you, dearie, traveling on board a merchant ship?”

“I’m Molly Lucas, sir. I’m on me way t’ visit me sick Aunt Sukie in th’ big city. Master Stiltskin’s a good master an’ ‘lowed me free passage,” she told him adopting a countrified accent and using the name of the affable barmaid from the White Waystation.

The Dark One stood still a moment. “Is that right?” And even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt that he was studying her intently. 

He turned his head away for a moment but then turned back, “You’ve got a husband, Molly Lucas?” he asked her.

“Oh, what me, sir?! Oh, no sir,” she answered, dipping her head in apparent embarrassment. “Got a couple of boys talkin’ with me Granny ‘bout plightin’ fur me, but nothin’ serious.” Belle was nervous. The Dark One was a strong, powerful presence. And he had turned his entire attention on to her.

“Nothin’ serious,” he repeated. He walked around her, examining her and then he moved in and she could feel the heat from his body, his scent, his very essence overwhelming her and then she felt his hand on her chin, lifting her face to his. “You’re quite beautiful.”

And then he had lifted the scarf that covered his face, just enough so that he could kiss her.

Her head had tilted back and she nearly fell into him. He began the kiss -- nothing special, just placed his lips on hers and then . . .

But then he pulled her into him, forcefully, masterfully.  His lips now gently nudging hers apart. Her hands had sought out his arms, her fingers grabbing onto his sleeves, holding on to support herself, to hold herself upright. 

She had moaned. This was the most intense kiss she had ever experienced, deep, soul-seeking, hot and . . .  and . . . and, yes, yes, arousing, exhilarating, exciting, stimulating and  . . . and . . . . He stepped back.

“Why don’t you come with me then, Molly?” he whispered. “Come with me. We could have a bit of fun.”

_Oh, did she ever want to. While her husband’s kiss had been promising, it had been nothing like this. Her absentee husband hadn’t offered her the passion this dark figure was clearly proposing. Her husband hadn’t offered the promise of satisfaction this man was making._

He was still holding her much too close. “Come with me,” he muttered against her mouth.

“No,” she managed to say, she heard herself saying. She had made promises to her husband, promises that would benefit her people, promises that she would abide by. She could not, would not go with the Dark One.

“I could . . . insist upon it,” he whispered to her, his hands were still on her arms. “I could . . . force you.”

_Yes, he could, he could force her to go with him, he could force her into his bed, he could force her . . . she shuddered . . . he could force her to yield herself to him._

“But you won’t,” she said simply, trusting her instinct, hoping for the best.

She knew he was looking at her, thinking things over.  Somehow, even though there was a silken cloth masking his features, she knew he was smiling, “No, I won’t,” he agreed, his voice low and gruff.

And then he stepped back from her. “Are we finished here?” he addressed his men. When he’d received their affirmations, he gave a deep, flourishing bow to the Captain and fluidly swung back over to his own ship. The _Dark Soul_ detached from the merchant ship and sank down rapidly, soon disappearing from view.

Jefferson had rushed to her side, “Are you all right, ma’am?” he’d asked her.

“I am. I was able to pass myself off as a serving maid off to visit a sick relative.” She managed to keep her voice steady even though she was trembling inside.

Jefferson guided her back to her cabin.

“Ma’am, he kissed you. I saw it. We all saw it.”

“He asked if I would go away with him,” she whispered. “I told him, ‘no’.”

Jefferson didn’t say anything, “Are you all right?” he asked her again.

Belle sniffed. _Was she all right? Her passions had been stirred. The Dark One had touched something deep inside of her._ “I’m . . . all right,” she told him. “I’m a little shaken, but I’m all right.”

“You did well, you know,” Jefferson assured her. “You looked him in the eye, you lied about your identity and . . . you . . .”

She finished for him, “I kept my promise to my husband. He will take care of my people as long as I keep my promise to him.” She then remembered that pirates had been aboard her husband’s ship and rifled through his cargo.“Did the pirates get anything of value?” she asked.

“Yes. They took some medication, pretty valuable stuff. And a bit of grain that was being shipped into the capital,” Jefferson told her.

“Well, if what you said is true, the pirates will get the medication and the grain to where they can be used most. But I know that my husband will lose money on this trip.”

Jefferson didn’t say anything for a moment, “Just so,” he finally told her and left her alone in her little cabin. He did bring her a light supper before the sun went down which she ate by herself.

Belle then readied herself for bed. She brushed her hair out and braided it. She changed into a plain cotton nightdress to settle herself in for the night. The cot was thin and uncomfortable but the ship provided a gentle rocking motion that lulled her to sleep, sleep that was disturbed by conflicting images of her enigmatic husband and a shadowy pirate, both men powerful, willful, seductive and disturbing.

The next morning, poorly rested, she re-dressed herself in one of her new Giselle gowns, a simple green wool dress with a plain white shift that fit underneath. She pulled the trousers up under the dress as she had the day before. She unbraided her hair and brushed it out, twisting it up onto the top of her head.

She repacked her nightdress and prepped her bag so that it would be ready to be taken off the ship when it docked. She went out to see if there might be any kind of breakfast available.

Captain Grumwald greeted her.  “Yer a brave woman, missy,” he told her.  “Have some breakfast. Master Stiltskin wants us t’ eat well. I’ll give him that. We have eggs an’ fish an’ oatmeal available. You’ll have t’ serve yourself.” He pointed her toward the small buffet that was set in the large communal room of the gondola.

Belle ate a little breakfast and went out to the viewing deck.

It was breathtaking. They were already closing in on Hadensburg, the capital city.  Belle had never seen so many tall buildings in any one place, beautiful and glittering in the early morning sun. They sailed over the city gradually descending down to one of the outlying estates.

The ship docked with many workers frantically tethering it solidly down and began to unpack its cargo.  Belle stepped into the harness again and allowed herself to be lowered down. Jefferson followed, carrying her single bag and led her away from the docking bay toward a small open carriage that waited.

Jefferson helped her up and directed the driver to take them to the main house. The carriage followed a winding paved path, through formal, well-tended gardens and manicured lawns. They rode up to the very front of the great house.

Belle gaped.

“It’s pink,” was the first thing she said.

“Indeed it is,” Jefferson agreed. “Probably why it is widely known as Pink House, although Master Stiltskin refers to it as Brookstry.”

She knew the marble it was built from – Avonlea marble – the kind that was now being quarried again.

The place was four stories with dormer windows perched on the fifth story roof. Belle could see beveled and stained glass in many of the windows. It was far finer than the house she had just come from, certainly finer than her father’s house. Jefferson aided her in dismounting from the carriage and led her inside.

She looked around Brookstry and could not help but be impressed. Everything was beautiful but . . . there was a darkness, a melancholy to the place. In the entryway, she could see the dark polished wood of the floors and the red velvet damask on the walls. The furniture was ornate and heavy. There were vases of freshly cut lilies set here and there and heavy fringed curtains guarding the windows.

“This is beautiful,” Belle spoke as much to herself as to Jefferson.

“Thank you, my dear,” a tall, slender man with a large nose had come up. “Monsieur Lumiere,” he bowed, introducing himself. “I’m the Butler. This is Madame Joanna, the head housekeeper. You’re wearing pants.”

“Yes, I am,” agreed Belle brightly. “Absolute necessity for airship travel.” She was peering around the starched butler and saw a kindly-faced woman, portly and plainly dressed.

The woman came forth, “It’s Miss Joanna t’ you, dear, jus’ Miss Joanna. So delighted t’ meet you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am,” Belle greeted her respectfully.  “I can tell that you two are doing a most efficient job.”

“Madame Joanna will be showing you your rooms,” Lumiere explained. “The Master will be expecting you to dress for afternoon tea and, he’s instructed me to tell you that there will be an affair tonight at the Duke of Nolen’s, so you’ll be needing one of the formal gowns.”

The man hesitated, looking behind Belle. “I don’t see that you brought a girl with you. I’ll see if I can find one of Madame Joanna’s girls to help you.” He gave her a stiff bow and walked away on his mission.

“You have daughters?” Belle asked the affable housekeeper.

“Why yes, two girls, Sallie and Susie, one no more brighter than th’ other. Let me take you t’ yer room,” and Miss Joanna bustled off.

Belle glanced at Jefferson who gave her a quick smile.  “You better hurry,” he whispered. “If you don’t keep up with her, she’ll wander off and get into something else,” he advised.

Belle nodded and quickly went after the Head Housekeeper, following her to the second floor and into a suite of rooms decorated with a heavy hand – expensive trappings for sure, but lacking in life and joy. Everything felt suffocating. There were three rooms, including a bedchamber, a private bathing facility, and an office. There were thick carpets on the floor, gilded tapestries hanging on the walls, and plush pillows placed into the chairs. In the bedchamber Belle found a walk-in closet stuffed with fancy clothes, some she recognized as coming from Miss Giselle’s talented hand. 

“I’d suggest th’ simple white lace day dress fur tea an’ th’ gold dress fur th’ party tonight,” Miss Joanna addressed her, pulling out the two garments.

“Those are lovely,” Belle told her. “Let’s put them aside.”  Belle then asked her, ”Where does the Master sleep?”

“Oh, his room is next t’ yours. That door,” she pointed to a heavy door on a side wall, “connects th’ two rooms.”

“Thank you,” Belle said. “This house is beautifully decorated. Was that your doing?”

“What?! Oh dear me, no. That was Miss Mills when she was staying here. She had such elegant tastes.”

“Miss Mills?” Belle asked.

Joanna blushed and bit her lip. “Oh, Madame Stiltskin. It was a long time ago and she’s married to Prince Henry now. The Master has nothing more to do with her – not that he had much to do with her when she was here.”

_One of her husband’s previous paramours, Belle guessed. She’d lived here then, or at least, spent a lot of time here – enough to have decorated the huge place._

“Is there anything else I kin do fur you?” Joanna asked her.

“I’d like a quick tour before lunch if that’s possible. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your duties . . . perhaps Sallie or Susie . . . ?” she asked remembering the names of Joanna’s daughters.

Joanna nodded. “Felix will send you the first one he finds. Both are a bit forgetful and rather scattered, so don’t expect much.”

Belle shook her head. Joanna was pleasant enough, but seemed rather . . . forgetful . . . and rather scattered herself.

Left alone for a while she explored the huge bedroom, including rifling through the closet looking over her new wardrobe. _Well, this had been something her husband had told her he would do for her._ The clothes were certainly beautiful, breathtaking even – silks, and brocades, voile, and lace.

In a drawer, she found some frilly undergarments. She blushed, these garments were clearly not for modesty’s sake. There was no bookshelf in the room and Belle finally decided on putting her books on the dresser top. Perhaps she could have a small bookcase brought in and one of the little side tables set along the wall taken out. 

She went over to pull back the curtains to let some natural light in the room and caught her breath. The curtains hid some floor-to-ceiling windows -  no, not windows, doors. Doors that led out onto a balcony with a magnificent view of the city down below. Belle was trying to figure out how to open the balcony door when there was a timid knock on the room door.

“Come in,” she called out and turned to see a pretty girl, a leggy brunette who reminded her of Ruby and Molly. She was about sixteen and standing nervously in the doorway. “Are you Susie or Sally?” she asked kindly.

The girl curtsied and nodded, “Sally, mum. Me mum said ye wanted to git shown ‘roun’ th’ place?”

“Yes, I do.”

Sally nodded and stood awkwardly a moment.

“Will right now be acceptable to you?” Belle finally asked the girl.

“Yes . . . yes, mum. We’ll do th’ house first.”

And Belle was led from room to room starting on the second floor. Sally would share with her what was on the other side of the many closed doors. Downstairs, things were more open. There were the entry hall and grand staircase. To one side was the Master’s business study (another closed door), a large dining room, a sitting room, and a smaller dining room. On the other side was the grand ballroom.

Belle realized quickly that this place did not have the homey charm of Stiltskin’s country estate. This place was dark and heavy and so very formal. Miss Joanna’s and Miss Sallie’s friendly and forthcoming demeanor didn’t fit with the numbing atmosphere of the house.

Everything was beautiful but cold and unwelcoming.  Things were sparkling clean, every corner swept, every mirror polished, everything in its place, just so. She suspected everything was kept to a tight routine and quickly realized that she would probably not be joining the staff for meals in this place.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle settles in.  
> Master Stiltskin returns.


	5. One Cold Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle settles in.  
> Master Stiltskin returns.

Belle had made efforts to put her young guide at ease and Sally seemed to relax after giving her the house tour. She had instantly liked the affable Sally who reminded her of the Lucas girls.

At the moment the two women were standing in the immense grand ballroom, now quiet and dark with tables and chairs pushed against the walls and disguised by draped linen sheets.

“This is impressive,” Belle had to admit.

“It’s not been used since I begun workin’ here. We usually keep it closed up an’ just run a sweepin’ an’ dustin’ twice a week through th’ place. The Master’s not much fur big parties.”

“I understand he’s very busy, probably too busy for such things.”

“Still . . .” Sally said wistfully. “It might be nice t’ see th’ place all lit up an’ lookin’ festive-like.”

“Perhaps,” Belle wasn’t so sure. She was not one for grand parties herself. “Now, what’s on the grounds outside?” Belle asked

Sally brightened up. “Oh, it’s nice outside. There are th’ gardens an’ a small vineyard an, of course, th’ stables.”

“I’d like to see those, please,” she told Sally who eagerly led the way through the gardens, just now coming alive with early blooming bulbs and camellias. Belle’s sharp eyes caught sight of any number of interesting plants, plants that had the potential for sinister uses in the hands of someone with evil in their heart. She stopped to examine one of the vines that still had dried seed pods hanging from it. _Marsh Vine, she thought._

“That plant has pretty flowers in the spring, mum,” Sally told her.

“Yes, it does. But it is the seed pods that I find more interesting.” And she reached out to pick those she could reach. She looked closely at several other plants – yes, there was Crown Thistle (best used as a calmative and sleep aid) and, she thought, another plant that was probably Good Morrow, an all-around digestive aid. They walked on toward the stables.

“What is that building?” Belle asked, regarding a small place at the far end of the gardens.

“Oh, that be where mad Mr. Jefferson does his experiments.”

“Mad Jefferson? What? Experiments?” Belle asked. She’d never suspected anything out of the ordinary regarding her husband’s major domo. 

“Oh yes, Mr. Jefferson was an apoth’cary when th’ Master took him on. He’s ‘llowed t’ work out back there, away from th’ house, with his form-u-lees an’ such.”

“Why don’t we go and see him?” Belle asked.

“Oh no,” Sally protested, her eyes widening. “Sometimes thin’s explode out there.”

“Really?” Now Belle was intrigued, but Sally continued to hold back.

“The Master has some really beautiful horses,” Sally spoke up, obviously trying to coax Belle on toward the stables.

“Is there one you like, especially?” Belle caught the girl’s interest as she returned her attention to the stables that were close by.

Sally bit her lip. “A big black fellow. Mom tole me I couldn’t be riding him as he was too spirited, but he . . . he likes me an’ . . . well,” Sally dropped her voice. “I found I could ride him when there’s a lot o’ men he won’t let on him.”

“I’d like to meet this horse,” Belle told her as they stepped inside the wooden structure.

Belle was impressed with the cleanliness of the stables -- fresh straw, clean feeding and watering troughs.

When they stepped inside there was a rustling and, abruptly, a young, dark-haired man peered up over one of the stalls. “Sally,” he whispered. “I didn’t think you was ‘llowed back ‘ere.” He seemed preoccupied with setting his clothes aright.

“I’m with Lady Stiltskin now, showing ‘er ‘round’,” Sally answered back to the young man who looked up, now just noticing Belle.

“Mum,” he gave her a short bow -- a handsome young man, strong from working in the stables. He glanced back down at the stable floor and Belle had begun to form a suspicion.

“This is Dan’el, mum,” Sally introduced them.

“So nice to meet you, Daniel,” Belle smiled at him. “Are you responsible for the conditions in the stable.”

“Yes, mum,” he answered nervously.

“I’m impressed. It’s obvious that you genuinely care for the animals.”

He gave her a nervous smile. “Thanks, mum, and, I do. I take pride in me work and me job.” He came around the stable, “I’ve got a little filly I was told would be yours if you was interested.”

And he took Belle out of the stable and whistled. Several horses came running over to him, including Sally’s big black stallion and one shy little golden horse with bright brown eyes. The little horse held back a bit from the others, eyeing Belle, who was immediately drawn to the pretty beast.

“Would you perhaps have a treat I could give her?” she asked Daniel, who smiled widely this time and handed her a couple of apple slices. He began talking with the other horses and giving them each a treat while the little golden mare cautiously approached Belle.

Belle patiently waited for the pretty horse to gather up her courage and come over to get her apple slice.

“She’s one for apple slices, carrots sometimes,” he explained. “She’s shy but once she trusts you, she’s all right.”

Belle stroked the horse’s soft skin above her nose. “What’s her name?”

“Lady,” Daniel told her. “When all th’ other fillies was rough-housin’ an’ actin’ silly, she were always so gentle an’ proper.”

“Good name for her then,” Belle told him. Belle heard something behind her and turned to catch a glimpse of a dark-haired young woman slipping out the stable.

Daniel and Sally then showed Belle more of the grounds, including the vegetable gardens. There were winter greens and a few radishes peeking out of the ground, all growing in some well-tended, raised beds. The sun was high in the air and, her stomach tightening, Belle realized that it must be time for the mid-day meal.

Reluctantly, as she was enjoying herself in the outdoors (more than in the sterile environment of the house), Belle decided to take Sally and return to the main house.

As they walked back together, Belle asked, “I thought I saw someone leaving the stable when we were looking at the horses.”

“Oh, it’s a secret, mum, but that’s Princess Regina. She’s from th’ estate next door an’ comes over fur Dan’el to give her . . . uh . . . ridin’ lessons, ‘ceptin’ her mum dudn’t approve o’ Dan’el, so she’s not supposed t’ be comin’ over anymore.”

“Riding lessons, huh?” Belle remarked.

Sally smiled. “You’ve got that right, mum. Miss Regina an’ Dan’el -- they have a thing for each other. Kinda feel sorry for ‘em. Regina’s mom will never let anything come of it.”

Belle thanked the girl and made her way to the small dining room. Sure enough, there was a place set for her on the right-hand side of the head of the table. _No, there was no chance of breakfast or lunch with the staff in this house, Belle thought. She would have to find another way to get to know these people._

Belle ate a cold lunch of soup and small sandwich – everything nicely done and quite delicious. _She must remember to have a word with the cook to thank him . . . or her . . . personally._

Belle was left to her own devices the rest of the afternoon. She assumed she would have until tea time when she would be expected to present herself in the white lace dress.

She could only hope that her husband would be there. 

**Tea Time**

But he was not.

Belle sat in the little tea room, another room done all over in red -- red brocade, red velvet, red voile, red carpet, and red curtains.  She had dressed in the white lace dress. Her hair had been styled and put up by young Sally. She waited, nibbling on some little lemon squares and sipping some very passable tea, but she waited alone.

Lumiere came in with a small envelope. “This was just delivered. It’s from the Master,” he explained.

Belle took it, opening and reading the short note from her husband sending his regrets.

Belle sighed and folded the note. “It seems as if Master Stiltskin will not be coming to tea,” she told Lumiere.

“Sorry Madame,” Lumiere told her. “He’s a very busy man.”

“He is,” she agreed. She hesitated. “And I’m used to being a very busy woman. Perhaps you and Miss Joanna could take a moment to speak with me.“

He seemed surprised. “She is quite busy, Madame, as am I.”

Belle gave him a gentle smile, one that she had used often enough with her father. “I’m quite sure of that. But what I have to say will only take a moment.”

Not taking his eyes off of her, Lumiere pulled down the bell rope that served as Miss Joanna’s signal. In a few moments, the woman bustled in.

“Oh, he didn’t make it t’ tea. So sorry I am, mum,” Joanna told her.

“Please, both of you, sit down,” Belle requested. The two looked at each other and sat down across from her. “Fix yourself a cup of tea, please.”

They looked at each other again and, painfully, awkwardly, they poured themselves some tea.

“Have one of these lemon squares. They are excellent,” Belle held the serving plate out to them. They each took one.

Belle waited a moment before beginning to talk. “From what I’ve seen, you two do an exemplary job running this household and I want to assure you that I have no plans to make changes.”

They both seemed to relax.

“Except . . . one small thing,” Belle told them. “I like to know what is going on. I like to know who is doing what job, who’s doing a good job, who needs some help. I like to know my staff, all my staff – from the man in charge,” she nodded at Lumiere, “to the bootblack and the scullery maid.” She sat back. “Now, I have some ideas how this can be done, but I would like to hear your suggestions.”

“Well, Madame,” Lumiere began, “it’s hardly necessary for you to know . . .”

She interrupted. “I know it’s not necessary, but it is how I like to do things. What do you think would work best? Meeting with a single staff member at tea time . . . or perhaps at breakfast?”

“Breakfast would probably work best, mum,” Joanna volunteered. “Even when the Master’s here, he’s not much on lingering over his oatmeal.”

Lumiere bit his lip but sighed and then spoke. “I would agree. Once you become more settled in, you are likely to have frequent afternoon appointments.”

“Could you draw up a schedule? Help with the details?” she asked the butler.

Lumiere nodded. “Yes, yes, I can do that.”

“Excellent. Now which one of you would be best for me to meet with each morning – just a brief moment to get a sense of the day?”

Lumiere bit his lip again but nodded, “That would probably be me.”

“Wonderful,” Belle beamed at him. “I think a few minutes should suffice. We’ll try and see how things work.”

Belle breathed a sigh of relief when Lumiere gave her a slow nod. He seemed to have accepted her small insertion into his domain. She had tried to be careful as to not appear as if she was taking away any of his control.

“These are good lemon squares,” he told her.

“Yes, I very much want to meet your cook.”

“She’s gifted, mum,” Joanna told her. “The Master rescued her outta dire circumstances. Truth be told, I think that Jefferson may ‘ave some feelin’s . . .”

“Madame Joanna,” Lumiere spoke sharply.  “I don’t know that Lady Stiltskin needs to be burdened with household gossip.”

Belle laughed. “I think I’ll be able to manage,” she told them both _curious as to Jefferson’s would-be relationship with the cook, but recognizing the information would have to wait._

The three enjoyed a calm, pleasant tea time. Belle requested that Sally be made available for assistance in helping her prepare for the evening’s affair. As Joanna and Lumiere prepared to leave, Belle made her last request. “Oh, I would also like to see the household budget books immediately.”

Belle could see Lumiere bristling but Miss Joanna spoke up, “Go ahead, Felix and get the books for her. She’ll think you’ve got something to hide if you don’t.”

Lumiere frowned but nodded. As he went off to get the books, Belle could hear him muttering “She’ll find the books immaculate. To imply that I would consider taking a _sou_ from the accounts is outrageous.”

Joanna and Belle watched him leave.

“He’s a little dramatic,” Joanna explained, “but means well. He came on staff when Miss Mills was here an’ when she left, he decided to stick with us. I think he liked us more than he liked her. Can’t blame him. She was one cold fish. ‘Course, Lumiere, he does run a tight ship.”

“I’m sure he does and I’m not suspecting malfeasance. I’m interested, perhaps, in doing a little re-decoration. I was hoping I might be able to shift some household funds for the project,” Belle explained.

“Re-decoratin’! Very good, mum. This place is like a funeral house, too dark, by half.”

“And too red,” Belle added to Joanna’s amusement.

 

There were several large accounting books that Lumiere turned over to her, setting them on the desk in the little study attached to her bedchamber. The view was wonderful, but this room too, was stifling with its overblown, heavy fixtures and dark furniture.

She quickly saw that there was an abundance of money, rather staggering amounts, that had been set aside for the running of the household. While some expenses seemed reasonable to her, there were others that seemed exorbitant. These she would have to investigate – perhaps they just reflected the cost of living in the capital. She’d have to make some inquiries before she could shift any funds.

“Mum.” There was a hesitant whisper.

She looked up. It was young Sally.

“It’s time to get ready, mum,” the young woman said deferentially.

Belle shut the account books. “Yes, of course.”

In her bedchamber, laid out, freshly pressed, was the gold dress. It was breath-taking. Belle had never seen anything quite like it. There was a soft ivory silk undergarment that was set underneath, and golden finery, beads, and lace layered on top.

With Sally’s assistance, Belle had donned some of the elegant undergarments she had found – a cream-colored corset with matching garters and pale cream silk stockings. She sat in her bedroom just in her elegant underpinnings, while Sally combed and brushed her hair and curled it up.  She had objected to the eye and lip colors Sally had offered, but the girl had insisted, sharing that all the ladies were augmenting their looks with these powders and creams.

“Oh yes, mum. They be wearing more paint than a street trollop – prob’bly spend more time with th’ gentlemen than th’ girls do, too,” Sally said artlessly.

Belle reluctantly relented and was amenable to a little color on her lashes and her lips. She was surprised at the impact these bits of color made in her appearance – she seemed more alive, more vibrant.

She was surprised again – stunned -- when her absentee husband, leaning on his cane, limped through the door that adjoined their bedrooms. Belle caught her breath. While she had remembered her husband’s appearance, she had forgotten the sense of _presence_ the man emanated. He dominated the little room and she found herself feeling immediately less than capable, more nervous and even more clumsy than usual.

_She was also suddenly well aware of her dishabille._

Her husband was already dressed in a black formal evening suit. He wore a snowy white shirt underneath and looked rather . . .  he looked very nice. _Really nice._

He motioned for her to remain seated.

“My lord. I had not heard that you had arrived,” she began.

“I just got in. Jefferson helped me change and then I realized . . . I realized that you would be dressing for this party and I decided to join you.” He spoke softly as he came in and sat behind her.

Belle realized he was looking her over and blushed. She had never been with a man with this much skin revealed. She closed her eyes and reminded herself that this man was her husband.

_He was helping her people and she would put forth every effort to be a good wife to him._

“Here,” he handed a small box to Sally. “See if you can put that in her hair,” he directed.

It was a gold comb decorated with small pearls.  It went into her dark hair with ease, meshing with the curls and reflecting the gold of the dress. It was a perfect accessory.

Sally rose to help Belle into her dress, slipping it over her head.  Belle helped things along, pulling the dress down and around herself.

It was a perfect fit. Stiltskin looked her over and seemed pleased with what he saw.

“You look lovely, Lady Wife. Sally, you are dismissed. I will help Lady Stiltskin finish getting ready.”

Sally curtsied and left without a comment.

Belle found herself shy in the presence of her new husband.

“We’re going to the Nolans’, my dear. They are old blood and little money. They owe me quite a bit. They are used to inviting me, but up to now, I’ve had the good taste to not actually show up to any of their events.  It will be quite a surprise when I make an appearance tonight, especially with you on my arm. I need you to be delightful and engaging and  . . . I want you to impress them.”

“I shall do my best, sir,” she told him not meeting his eyes.

“I’m sure you will.”

_Belle had not been around her husband for any significant amount of time, but she could easily have read a threat in his last statement._

He held out his arm to her, but Belle signaled him to wait a moment. He watched with some amusement as she fastened her little gun onto her calf and her stiletto knife onto the thigh of her other leg.

“Expecting trouble?” he asked.

“A girl can never be too careful,” she told him.

**The Nolans**

Belle found the Nolans to be quite charming – the epitome of old gracious blood, trained to put others at their ease and engage in bland pleasantries – a pattern of training with which she herself was familiar. Belle lost track of her husband as soon as they had arrived and she’d been left to smile at the company and dance with the wide variety of men who’d asked her. 

“You’re a neighbor of mine, you know that? So, you’re Stiltskin’s new bride. Hmmm, heard he’d bought a woman with some of his ill-gotten money,” said one of the men, an older fellow who, if Belle had correctly caught his name, was His Highness, Prince Millsworth.  “Very pretty, but then the Stiltskins have always had an eye for beauty. I prefer redheads myself.”

Belle smiled at the man, not sure if there was anything she needed to say. 

After more than an hour on the floor, Belle retreated to the ladies’ corner. Several gentlemen offered to get her something to drink and she accepted some lemonade. Sipping this, she looked around the dance floor.

“Looking for your husband?” she heard someone. It was the very pretty Lady Nolan, her hostess. This was a mature woman, possibly old enough to be Belle’s mother, but still beautiful and energetic.

Belle nodded.

Lady Nolan shook her head. “He took my husband off into his study almost as soon as he got here. I suspect they are hatching some business scheme. I would complain, you know, this is supposed to be a party, but since Mr. Stiltskin’s dealings usually work out very well for us, I guess, I’ll have to let things pass. Doing business with your husband has allowed us to maintain a very luxurious lifestyle.”

Belle smiled.

“Of course, I’m sure you are used to it,” Lady Nolan sighed. “I’m Mary Margaret, by the way,” and she held out her hand to Belle.

“Belle,” she shared with her hostess, taking the proffered hand.

“You must introduce me,” a lovely redhead came over to the two women. A petulant brunette followed in her wake.

“Oh, Cora darling. This is Lady Stiltskin. Belle, this is Her Highness, Princess Millsworth,” Mary Margaret made introductions.

“Of course, I believe we are neighbors,” Princess Cora Millsworth said, looking Belle over with a critical eye. “You’re fresh out of the country, I hear.”

“I am enjoying city life for my first time,” Belle agreed. So, this was young Regina’s mother and, if her information was correct, quite the social climber and likely one of her husband’s former lovers. Possibly the woman who’d decorated Pink House in shades of red and suffocation.

“We must become fast friends,” Cora told her, insincerity dripping from her hollow words.

“Where are the men?” asked the sulking young woman who’d come up trailing Cora. “I bet your husband is keeping them all hostage,” she accused Belle. Then she smiled, a tired smile, born of custom and training. “I’m Gwen. I haven’t gotten used to this,” she admitted. “My husband is so often gone away on the Emperor’s business and I had thought that we had come here to enjoy ourselves. But, once again, I’ve been abandoned to the attentions of men I barely know.”

Again Mary Margaret made some introductions, “Lady Stiltskin, this is Lady Kingsword.“ She turned to the young woman. “You’ll feel better when you’re able to buy a new wardrobe because of the windfall your Arthur gets from investing in one of Stiltskin’s deals,” Mary Margaret told her.  

“But I’ve heard that Mr. Stiltskin’s ships are getting targeted by that awful pirate,” Gwen protested. “Isn’t dealing with him dangerous?”

“Well, you could always huddle at home and live off your older investments – as long as they last,” Mary Margaret tried to explain things to the younger woman. “Of course, the older businesses are no more safe from pirate predations than the newer ones. And, from what my husband’s explained to me, even if Stiltskin’s ships are getting taken down from time to time, his transport ships are well-armed and he is getting hit less often than other shippers.”

“You seem to know a lot about your husband’s business dealings,” Belle observed.

Mary Margaret nearly blushed. “I guess I do. David has often told me that he respects my insights and understanding and he always discusses things with me.”

“It’s almost like you’re partners,” Belle told her.

“It _is_ like we’re partners,” Mary Margaret confirmed. “I realize that our relationship is unconventional.”

“Your husband seems to be a remarkable man,” Belle observed.

“Yes, yes, he is,” agreed Mary Margaret. “As is your husband. After that incredible Black Dragon deal – there was a moment after the thing crashed and burned we thought all was lost, but instead, Stiltskin rises up out of the ashes and turned everything around.  He really should have been knighted for that – the Emperor himself had a significant investment in that little enterprise.”

Belle felt a moment of embarrassment. _This woman seemed to have more information, more understanding of her husband than she did._

“I could go on and on, but here we are, as bad as the men, talking about business,” Mary Margaret laughed. “Let’s chat about more pleasant things. I love your dress. Who is your modiste?”

Belle could answer this, “Madame Giselle.”

“I don’t know her,” Gwen had stayed in the conversation.

“A countrified modiste,” Cora explained to the other women. “She has her moments.”

“She certainly does,” Belle agreed. She explained to the others, “She lives near Mr. Stiltskin’s country estate, Dark Castle at Forest’s Run.”

“A country modiste designed this!” Mary Margaret was impressed. “My dear, you have a treasure with Madame Giselle. Now, you must plan to come to my afternoon tea on Thursday at three, of course.  It’s very informal.”

“My Receiving Day is Monday,” shared Gwen. “When are you in for visitors?”

Belle was a bit taken aback. She took a breath so that she didn’t stammer out her answer, “To be truthful, I’ve only just arrived and I haven’t had much time for making social plans.”

“Well, put yourself in my hands, darling,” Mary Margaret seemed to have taken a liking to her. “I can get you introduced and get your calendar organized.”

“You’re too kind,” Belle told her sincerely.

“I’m happy to help.”

At that moment, the men seemed to spill out of Nolan’s study and Mary Margaret and Gwen both wandered off, apparently hoping to re-connect with their husbands. Cora stepped up to Belle’s side.

“You know your husband is a rather accomplished criminal,” she began, speaking softly. “I’m sure you know, I was his paramour for a brief time – that was before I found out all about his dirty laundry. The man deals in weapons . . . women and, of course, drugs. He has his finger in every unsavory activity that occurs within the confines of the empire.” Cora regarded her, “I certainly hope that you’re getting satisfactory recompense for selling yourself to him.” Cora smiled and stepped away from Belle.

Belle bit her lip after this exchange --  _Killian’s odd remarks and now this revelation.  Just who had she married?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT:   
> The Party ends.  
> Things heat up between Rumple and Belle.


	6. Trustworthiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party ends.  
> Things heat up between Rumple and Belle.

**__**

Unsettled, Belle forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths – another person telling her that her husband was a criminal.

Not that she trusted either Killian or this Cora, but the news was still . . . unsettling.

She watched the group of men as they emerged from Nolan’s study. Her husband was one of the last to come out of the room. He leaned on his cane and surveyed the crowd, his soft brown eyes quickly going to hers as if he had sensed exactly where she was in the large room. He gave her a ghost of a smile and began to make his way over to her. Belle couldn’t help but watch as he deliberately navigated his way through the sea of colorful gowns. So many of the ladies stopped him and would put their hands on one of his arms. Several of them leaned in to whisper something to him. He would invariably smile at them but then shake his head. They seemed disappointed. 

As he finally limped up to her side, leaning heavily on his cane, he spoke, “Where you able to make acquaintance with Lady Nolan?”

Belle forced herself to smile at him. “Yes, I had been dancing with, I think, every available man here and needed a repast. I found myself in this corner with a lemonade and she began talking with me. She’s offered to help me with my social calendar.”

“Nice of her,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t know I had a social calendar,” Belle admitted.

“Of course, you do. It will be one of your primary tasks as my wife,” he told her.

A slight suspicion began to form, “Did you . . . did you ask her to befriend me?” she asked. _Belle knew she was only a little country girl and was at sea amid all these social sophisticates._

“Let’s go outside, my dear,” he told her without answering. He grasped her by the elbow and without waiting for a response, he then led her outside onto the huge stone balcony that overlooked the expansive gardens.

Once they were in a quiet corner, he spoke in a hushed whisper, “I let Nolan know that I would consider it a gesture of kindness if they would make you feel welcome.”

“Oh, so she was only being nice to me because . . . of . . . who my husband is,” Belle deflated -- she had thought that Mary Margaret had actually liked her.

“Listen, my dear, and listen well. I just asked them to make you feel comfortable. If the Lady Mary Margaret made any other offers, it was because she wanted to.”

“She told me she knew about your business dealings and that you had helped them make a lot of money.”

He smiled, “Didn’t know that Lady Mary Margaret would stoop to talking about the vulgarities of money.” He paused and spoke gently, “Lady Wife, understand, there will be plenty of people who will seek to get in your good graces. Some will do it because they like you. Many more will do it because they will see you as a path to me. Mary Margaret already has a path to me. If she has been kind to you . . . “ he tilted her head up so that she would look directly into his eyes, dark in the shadows of the overhanging sweet spice trees, “it is because she likes you.”

Belle nodded. _She had, perhaps, been oversensitive. This was such a different world from her father’s Earldom._ “I’m sorry, my lord. This place, these people. I am a bit overwhelmed. I don’t really understand . . . “

He interrupted her thoughts by kissing her forehead. “You’re doing fine. Your job is to be pleasant and pleasing and I think you’re managing well.”

She relaxed and allowed her husband to lead her back inside. With her at his side, they made their way back to Lord and Lady Nolan and shared their gratitude for having them at the party.

Mary Margaret reached out and took Belle’s hand. “Would tomorrow be too soon for me to call on you? It would have to be late afternoon. It will take me that long to recover from this evening.”

Belle glanced at her husband who gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Come for tea?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

**The Ride Home**

“That went well. Mary Margaret is one of the premiere hostesses of the capital. She has members of the royal family in for dining.”  He sat across from her in the sleek black carriage. She did not make a reply.

He continued, “And you looked especially lovely. I received a number of compliments on your dancing and your manners.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What do you think of  . . . these people?” he asked her off-handedly.

“Oh . . . sir . . . I hardly think . . . I don’t believe I should comment . . .”

“You do have an opinion, don’t you?” he pushed her.

Belle bit her lip. “It is premature for me to offer any thoughts . . .”

“But I’m sure you have some initial impressions. I would like to hear these.” He sat back and waited.

“Well, they’re all very nice.” He was still waiting. “But . . . and this will sound very judgmental of me and presumptuous since I don’t really know any of them – but they all seem so . . . uh . . .” She swallowed. “Many of them seem overly concerned with frivolous things. I couldn’t help but think that for the money they had put into their clothing, I could provide resources to support three families for a year. I’m sorry, I know this sounds very self-righteous . . .  but you asked.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did speak, he spoke slowly, “I think you are correct in your assessments of most of these people – they are petty and self-absorbed and absolutely useless. I’m impressed that you weren’t dazzled by all their sparkling tinsel.”

Belle bit her lip again. “Thank you, sir.”

“Things are still a little formal between us, aren’t they?” he observed.

She didn’t look at him, “They are, sir. I’m trying very hard to meet my obligations in this marriage, but I’m finding that I’m not always sure what my obligations are,” she confessed.

“To be pleasant and pleasing,” he repeated what he had said at the gala. “There are some women who hold great sway in this kingdom and, having failed to gain my due through men, I think that it may be through these women that I will be able to reach my goal.”

“And just what is your goal, sir, if I may ask?”

“Good girl,” he whispered under his breath. “I have a long-range plan. My first goal is to be allowed into the peerage. I don’t aspire to become a Duke. I would be content with a lesser title.”

“But there’s more, isn’t there?”

The darkness and quiet of the carriage lent a cloak of secrecy to their conversation. He leaned forward, increasing the sense of conspiracy, “Yes, my dear. There’s more.”

When he didn’t share further, Belle drew her own conclusions. “I think perhaps you want power and wealth.”

“I have power and wealth,” he told her.

“Then more power? More wealth?” she guessed.

“Perhaps,” he whispered.

“And you have a plan.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m part of that plan?”

“You are now,” he admitted. “You, your father, your people will all greatly benefit if you continue to play your part.”

“So, becoming friends with Mary Margaret is desirable,” she said to herself. “Are there any other women you would like me to become close to?” She might have heard him laugh, a short sound from his side of the darkened carriage.

“Several I think. One, in particular, a young woman, Lady Gwenivere. Her husband, Lord Arthur, is Captain of the Emperor’s guard. Another is Lady Ashley. Her husband is Lord Thomas.”

Belle nodded, “I can already tell you that Lady Gwen is young and bored and often receives attention from other men. I suspect, she may fall prey to infidelity as her husband is often absent – which makes me wonder if it is his business that takes him away or, perhaps, is it . . . well, something or . . . someone else.”

“Really?” her husband seemed surprised to hear her say this. He hesitated but then shared, “I’m in a position to know that Lord Arthur is indeed involved in an affair with his cousin. It is thought to be a great secret. Yet, you, after being with his wife for only a short time, already had suspicions. I am again impressed, Madame.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, gazing out the window at the moonlit landscape.

He had sat back, resting against the back cushions. “You seem . . . distant. I would have thought you would have been more comfortable in your role as my wife by now.”

Belle closed her eyes. This man was her husband. He was rich and powerful and had all rights to her. She made no reply.

“Something is bothering you, I think,” he speculated.

“I want to make some changes in the decorations of your house,” she shared, blurting out one of her desires.

“Our house,” he corrected. “I give you free reign. I will speak to Jefferson to let you have whatever money you need. Just promise me that you will choose another color besides red for the place.”

“I will, sir,” she readily agreed.

They rode a little further in silence.

“There is still something bothering you. Something more than spending a little money on carpets and curtains.” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Perhaps . . . you have heard rumors about me?”

“I have heard some comments,” she admitted.

“Let me guess. You have heard that I deal in drugs, weapons, perhaps even women?”

She licked her lips nervously. “Yes,” she answered quietly.

“And you want to know if any of that is true.”

“Yes,” she nodded.

He didn’t answer immediately. “Those are difficult charges to respond to,” he told her. “If I say ‘yes,’ you will leave this carriage thinking I’m guilty of heinous criminal actions. But if I say ‘no,’ it is possible that you will leave this carriage thinking that I’m guilty of heinous criminal actions _and_ I’m a liar.”

He sat quietly for a moment before beginning slowly. “I know what drugs can do to a family. My own family, both parents, were consumed by drugs. It is not something I would want to see destroy another family. As for the weapons, well, I admit to selling some weapons. Most of them go to outlanders who are fighting for freedom against the Oznian Over-Witch.”

“What about women?” she asked him.

“A lucrative trade, my dear. Unlike a drug or a weapon that can only be sold once, a woman can be sold over and over again. Would it help if I told you I think it is a despicable practice and I have never partaken in such, either as a purveyor or a solicitor? Does any of this help?”

She nodded. “Yes, my lord.” She hesitated, “It was just that the Archduke said you were involved with the drug trade and then, tonight, Cora, said . . . ”

He interrupted her. “If you are prepared to believe Killian or Cora over me, we shall not have much of a marriage. Both have reason to despise me and both would work to turn you against me. What does your intuition tell you about the trustworthiness of Killian, Cora and myself?”

She realized she was smiling. “I didn’t like . . . or trust either Killian or Cora, but I . . . I find myself . . . I find myself enjoying your company. I am beginning to like you, sir.”

“I am pleased and not a little bit relieved. I’m not an easy man to like and I will freely tell you that I have done more than my share of dark deeds,” he admitted. “But, I am trying to do better, be a better man. Perhaps, it might be best in the future, if you have concerns about my character, about my dealings, that you ask me right away,” he told her. “I would not have you stewing whether I’m the Prince of Darkness.”

Belle nodded and sat quietly a moment. “You know I had an encounter with the Dark One,” she said without preamble.

He didn’t respond right away. “I do. You know I get reports on everything that happens.”

“Jefferson and Captain Grumwald had me hide in my cabin, but one of the pirates found me and I was taken to the Dark One.” Belle swallowed nervously, reminding herself that her husband was already aware of what had transpired. “I pretended I was a serving girl and then . . . you know, he kissed me. I was surprised and didn’t know how to respond. I guess I should have slapped him or put my knee in his privates, but . . . I didn’t.”

“He had surprised you,” her husband said. “And it was a very dangerous situation. You wouldn’t have wanted to anger the man.”

“I guess not,” Belle had to agree. “What I don’t understand if why you . . . and all the others . . . allow this man to terrorize the skies. Perhaps if you began to have ships run in pairs to act as protection for each other . . . or take up a scant bit of cargo space with a few more cannons.”

“Well . . .” Stiltskin was floundering. “It . . . uh . . . it has always . . .  uh . . .”

“Or just buy the man off. With what you’re losing to his piracy in a year, you could easily make him a generous offer.”

“Well . . .” Stiltskin was still struggling to answer.

“Or offer an enormous reward for his capture. The man associates with pirates, for goodness sake. I would think if the reward was large enough, one of his own people might turn him in,” she continued.

“W . . .w . . .well . . .” her husband stuttered.

“Or even invest money into improving road conditions and ship overland,” Belle added.

“All excellent suggestions, my dear, but they all cost money up-front and I have found that people are not willing to pay a little money now to save a lot of money later.” He leaned forward. “I take it you were not unduly over-wrought by his . . . uh . . . unsolicited attentions?”

“Hardly worth a second thought,” she told him sharply. “I felt more angry at the violation of your vessel than by his lackluster attempt at seduction.”

“So you . . . you weren’t impressed?”

“By a dirty, thieving pirate? I should think not,” she assured her husband. _She wasn’t going to tell her husband that the passionate kiss she had shared with the man had shaken her. Better to put the Dark One and all his sensual allure out of her mind. She had a husband to think of._

He sat back. There was a pause before he observed, “Well, I’d heard you were feisty.”

 

**Pink House**

They had arrived back at Brookstry. Staff had lit the gas lights to allow them to find their way around the driveway. He helped her alight from the carriage and escorted her back into the house, leaving his carriage for the stoic driver to attend to. Master Stiltskin followed her into her bedroom.

“I’ll assist you in undressing,” he told her after removing his own formal jacket. “No need to rouse any of the staff.”

She stood still while he slowly undid the myriad of back buttons of the glittering dress. She could feel the warmth of his hands on her skin as he slid the dress off her arms. The golden dress slowly slid to the floor and pooled around her feet.

Her back was to him and there was a moment that she wasn’t sure if he was even still there. She glanced back and saw that he was staring at her.

“You are remarkably beautiful, my wife.”

“I’m not a true wife to you yet, my lord,” she reminded him.

And now he seemed uncomfortable.

“My dear, Lady Wife . . . Belle. I . . .  I recognize that we do not know each other very well . . . hardly at all. If you would prefer that we wait . . .”

“I understand my duty,” she told him.

“Is it just duty that would bring you to me?” He whispered his question.

“I would hope there could be more between us . . . in time,” she answered. “I’m not afraid.”

He stepped back from her. “Yes, you are. But you’re also brave, very brave, I think.” He had dropped his hands to his sides. “You gave yourself, sold yourself, to a man, trusting him to come through with his promises to help your people.”

“My father would often tell me that my greatest weakness is my willingness, my desire, to trust others,” she told him. “To believe in their goodness.”

“Hah! My own weakness is my complete unwillingness to trust others,” he told her. “But . . . I do want to trust you.”

Belle stepped in front of her husband and gently laid her hand on his chest. “My duty does drive me at this moment, but . . . you should know . . . I don’t find you . . .  unappealing.” She reached down and removed both her gun and her knife.

He seemed flustered. “Belle . . . I . . . I . . . I’m not sure we should take this next step . . .”

“Do you not find me attractive?” she asked, concerned. _Were those horrid rumors that he preferred the company of young boys true?_

“Oh god,” he groaned. “Quite the opposite. I have done little else but think about you these past weeks. I tried to convince myself that you weren’t as beautiful as I was remembering you . . . but when I saw you in this chamber, this evening . . . I . . .  I realized that my memory was a pale reflection of what you really looked like.”

Belle had begun to loosen his cravat, pulling it out from around his neck.

Her husband continued, “And . . . and Jefferson has been sending me these long letters praising how well you’ve gotten along with staff and how everyone thinks you’re wonderful . . . you know, I think the man has fallen in love with you, and I . . .  I’ve come to realize that I have married far above my station.” Belle had unfastened some of his vest buttons and then his shirt buttons and was able to lean in and place a kiss on a patch of now bare chest.

She heard him catch his breath.

“I am so not worthy of you, and all I want to do is to throw you on that bed and pull up your skirts and . . .  and you deserve so much better than a quick tumble.”

Belle pulled away and smiled at him. “Perhaps you could help me with this corset.”

There was a moment, a long moment when he didn’t move.

When he did speak, he spoke roughly, “Turn around.” Once she had complied, he began the tedious job of loosening her corset, pulling out the laces. Soon enough, the garment relaxed and he was able to pull it off her waist.

Belle was now standing only in her dancing shoes, her gartered stockings as well as her thin, short, lacy shift and, something Giselle had told her was the latest in fashionable undergarments, some little lacy panties.

She turned to him, “Now, let me assist you, my husband,” She addressed herself to the remaining shirt buttons and soon enough, it rested, hanging from his shoulders, opening up on his body.

Belle looked at him and saw he was watching her closely. She reached in under the shirt to place her hands on his body. He radiated heat and she sought out his warmth, leaning in and resting on him. She felt his hands on her arms and then she lifted her face to his.

He kissed her, gently at first, but quickly deepening, his lips nudging hers open. Belle was glad she was holding on to him for she immediately felt weak in her knees and found herself clinging to him.

_Now,_ _this was more like it – slow and heated. It came into her head unbidden – like the Dark One’s kiss._  

He seemed to be in no hurry to do anything more than kiss her. Belle felt his lips leave hers to taste her neck, drinking in her fragrance, his tongue trailing down her neck. She shivered.

“Bed,” he said, _a request or an order, she wasn’t sure._

He followed her to the bed and stopped for a moment to strip off her little slippers. Still moving with glacier slowness, he unfastened the garters on her stockings, planting a kiss just below the little fasteners. He peeled down the silk from her legs, running his hands along her thighs and her calves. He caught her eyes before kissing the instep of each of her feet.

“That tickles,” she protested and she drew back. He let her go and sat for a moment on the edge of the bed.

“I need to take off my boots so I can join you,” he told her.

“Let me help,” she said and quickly slid off the bed, dropping to the floor. As he had helped with her corset, she bent herself to loosening the laces of his boots and with some effort, managed to pull the boots off the man. He stood quickly and unbuttoned his pants, dropping them onto the floor. He then quickly drew her back up and rolled her onto the bed, briefly placing her under his weight before ending up on his side next to her.

“You were right,” she told him, working up her courage.

“What about?” he asked almost absently, his attention was more on removing her shift, slipping his hands under it and pushing it up above her waist.

“I am afraid,” she confessed.

He stopped.

“I know what is supposed to happen between us -- mostly. But . . . but, I don’t understand how it will work and how . . . “ her glance went down below his waist and he knew she was aware of his current distended condition. “I don’t see how we will possibly fit together.”

He responded by kissing her intently and then pulling back. “It will work, I assure you, my Belle. I will endeavor to make things as easy for you as I can. Here, let’s dispense with these few remaining clothes.” And he pulled her shift, which in truth, had not allowed her much protection from his gaze and then, deliberately, he slid her panties down her legs, surprising her by bringing them to his face to smell her scent.

Although she was embarrassed at the condition of her panties, he seemed quite pleased to find the little lacy scrap was wet, letting him know that her arousal was real.  He decided to keep on his last close garment that shielded her from his own arousal. He had another goal for the moment.

“I’m going to touch you, here” and his hand ghosted her mound. “I think you will like what I can do for you,” he promised, and she closed her eyes as he began to avail himself of some of the privileges of a husband.

_He had been right. She did enjoy what he was doing for her, to her. His fingers seemed to be gently massaging her, hitting a particularly sensitive, eager spot. When he dropped his head to follow his fingers, she protested but he had shushed her and persisted. And when his tongue had delved into her deepest folds and hit that particularly sensitive eager spot, she heard herself whimpering. And when one of his fingers had pressed into her feminine channel, she heard herself gasping. And he pressed a second finger into her, working it up and down to sooth the passage and open her, all the while his tongue continued to tease and stroke her._

Belle heard herself. She was crying out, softly, over and over, her hands clenched in the soft smoothness of the sheets. It was like something had coiled within her and was tightening and tightening.

When it broke, she screamed. Her body convulsed, great waves of pleasure shooting, bursting through her. Dimly, when she had calmed down, she felt him slip his fingers from her body and shift so that he was lying next to her.

“That wasn’t too bad,” she managed to gasp out and she swore she heard him chuckle.

“Not too bad, by half,” he agreed, and she felt him pressing her back into the deep mattress. He was lying chest to chest, supporting his weight on his arms, his legs between hers.

The room was dark, but there was enough light streaming in from a full moon so that it glinted off his eyes. She knew he was intently looking at her.

“You ready for this next step?” she heard him ask her.

“Yes,” she whispered. This was what she had agreed to. This would save her people. And, at the moment, she wanted this man. He was different from anyone else she had ever met. Any other man, except the Dark One, but she shunted him out of her mind.

She was with her husband.

He slipped inside of her taut body in one clean motion. There had been a brief pain, a slight rending. It was . . . not what she’d expected.

“Are you all right?” he asked, stilling his movements.

“Yes, I think so. It’s . . . different.” She wiggled and realized that it wasn’t hurting, but she felt . . . stretched.

“I’ll do my best to go slow,” he promised, and he began to kiss her even as he began to move back and forth thrusting into her.

But it was over quickly, too quickly. She had hoped for another one of those incredible consuming sensations he’d pulled from her earlier and she’d thought she’d felt the beginnings of passion again but then, she heard him groan and felt something lose within her. She realized he’d spent his seed. He stopped moving, resting his head next to hers, regaining his breath.

“Next time, I’ll do my best to make it last, but you were just too  . . . too much this time,” he told her, rolling off and dropping off to sleep.

He was gone the following morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple has a long talk with Jefferson about many things (cabbages and kings?).  
> Belle is visited by one of her husband’s "business associates."


	7. Business Associates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple has a long talk with Jefferson about many things (cabbages and kings?).  
> Belle is visited by one of her husband’s "business associates."

“Well damn. Now I’ve really fucked everything up.”

This was the first thought of Master Rumple Stiltskin, captain of industry and newly-wed husband. He had awakened at first light and found his lovely bride wrapped around him, lying nearly on top of him. She had sought him out during the night, seeking his warmth and had ended up cuddling into his side.

That was exceptionally nice – the cuddling part. She had felt good in his arms, her skin soft and smooth. The scent of her hair, her body had been with him all night and he had relished it.

But this was wrong.

It could not be allowed to continue.

Carefully, slowly, he slithered out of the bed and away from his bride, regretting he could not pursue what his body wanted, to stay with her, perhaps even indulge in another session of lovemaking – maybe do it better this time.

He gathered up his clothing and cautiously, doing his best not to disturb her sleep, he made his way back to his own room where he dressed, pulling on fresh underclothing, pants, and shirt, socks and shoes. He could use a shower but decided this would wait. He left the house to pick his way across the wet morning grass to Jefferson’s little workshop.

Rumple was familiar with the ramshackle structure as it served both as a workshop and a small apartment for Jefferson. He scowled when he had to remove some recently harvested cabbages from the small table in order to make room for himself. This morning called for coffee rather than tea, he decided, and he put on a pot to heat. Likely it was the smell that woke Jefferson who soon appeared, bedraggled, in the door that led to the living quarters.

“Oh,” was all the majordomo said. “Fix me a cup. We’ll talk.” Jefferson then stepped back into the bedroom but soon reappeared, dressed much as Rumple, in pants and shirt, socks and shoes. He sat down at the small table across from his employer. The two men sat quietly for a long moment sipping the hot coffee.

“How was the evening at the Nolans?” Jefferson finally asked.

“Perfect. I sealed up the Pumpkin Shell deal and . . . and . . . _she_ was charming and delightful and all together. . . perfect. She’ll be having Mary Margaret over for tea this afternoon, so they can work on her social calendar.  Oh yes, on the way home, she asked me about my scurrilous past and my current scandalous . . . current criminal . . . activities.”

“Which you, of course, denied?” Jefferson ascertained.

“Of course. When we got back, she asked me to help her undress and one thing led to another and . . .  now, my carefully constructed image of being immune to the charms of the fairer sex is seriously in jeopardy,” he drained the first cup and poured himself a second one.

“Well, I could see you spinning this as your best effort to avoid an annulment. It’s not like her family has the political pull or financial resources they would need to get the marriage annulled after it’s been consummated.”

Rumple nodded. “I guess. But, Jefferson, now that I’ve been with her . . . She was . . . “ _What would he, what could he tell his best friend? – he didn’t, wouldn’t violate the sanctity, the secrecy of the marriage bed by telling him how incredibly responsive the woman had been, how sweetly she’d surrendered, how just damn beautiful she had looked when she’d come for him, how much he wanted to have her again . . . and again._

“It’s now going to be even harder for you to resist her . . .  allure.” Jefferson helped him out.

“Got that right. But you know, you understand why I can’t let people know that she means anything to me other than being a pretty bauble I’ve picked up to complement my collection of other pretty baubles.”

“You don’t want to put her in danger.” Jefferson understood.

“What if she should get pregnant? Oh god, what was I thinking?”

Jefferson smiled. “You were thinking like a man – a man with a beautiful and . . . eager . . . new bride. I don’t see that you have anything to worry about.” Jefferson took a sip of his own coffee. “But . . . if you’re planning on avoiding Lady Belle’s company for the foreseeable future, I would suggest you send her a present – otherwise, she’ll think that she’s displeased you.”

“I wouldn’t want her to think that. A present, huh?”

“Yes, like flowers or candy or . . .”

“A diamond bracelet?”

“Yeah,” Jefferson nodded. “Yeah, a diamond bracelet would probably do. But your gift should include a personal note . . . uh . . . something about how busy you are, and you hate you can’t be with her at this time, and how much you look forward to seeing her again.”

Rumple finished his second cup. “You’re so good at this. Why haven’t you gotten married again?”

“I work for an impossible-to-please boss,” Jefferson told him, rising to pour them both additional coffee. He set an iron skillet onto the single burner set in his countertop. He turned on the gas. He added in a pad of butter into the pan.

Rumple was puzzled. “You mean me?”

“Of course, I mean you, you dolt! When do I have time for romance with my regular job overseeing your household and with my little hobby which I try to do out here when I’m not being interrupted? Besides, I don’t know if I’m truly ready to move on just yet, Rum,” Jefferson cut four slices of bread from a loaf and set them into his small oven, turning this on. “I still miss her . . . every day, I miss her.”

“Well, what about this rumor I keep hearing that you’ve been eyeing one of my other employees?”

Jefferson grinned at him. “Yeah, I am certainly eyeing someone, but . . . well, it takes two to do that dance and she’s not eyeing me back.”

“Well, if you can’t get a woman interested, no man can . . . “ Rumple sighed. “By the way, speaking of interesting females, how is our Grace?”

Jefferson beamed even as he pulled out six eggs from his small cooler and cracked them into a bowl. “Wonderful. I get a letter from her once a week – I think the school makes them write home. She says she loves it, has a lot of friends, lotsa classes she enjoys. The school also keeps in regular contact with me and they tell me she’s a class leader, is an excellent student and very well behaved.” He slid the eggs into the pan and began to allow them to cook, stirring the eggs, pushing the cooked portions to the edge of the pan.

“I’m glad. I know you were reluctant to send your baby girl off so far away, but all my contacts told me this was the best school.”

“Grace tells me that she thinks that some of her friends are just being friends with her because their parents know that you’re her . . . well, you’re like her rich uncle.” Jefferson divided the eggs across two plates.

Rumple chuckled. “Astute of her. And these parents understand that if Grace and their own little darlings are good friends, then they have a direct line to her rich uncle. What can I say? They’re right. I regard your daughter as if she were my favorite niece.” ~~~~

Jefferson pulled the toast from the oven and set the plates down on the table adding the butter plate, salt, and pepper to complete the meal service. He sat down. “Do I thank you often enough for all that you’ve done for me . . . and my daughter?”

Rumple gave his good friend a slow smile. “You do. And you know that you’ve given back to me easily as much as I’ve given you, probably more. I just . . . “

“You just saved my life. You brought me back from the brink of death, and you gave me a reason to keep living. And you’ve treated my daughter as if she were your own. As far as I’m concerned, I owe you everything.”

The two men locked eyes for a long moment. “You know, if I were into men, I would probably kiss you right now,” Rumple finally said.

“And if I were into men, I would let you. Let’s just settle for a fist bump to the shoulder, shall we?” Jefferson replied.

Rumple smiled in agreement and settled into his breakfast.

“It would be nice if this other woman you were eyeing was a cook. This is a bland breakfast,” Rumple remarked offhandedly. He caught Jefferson dropping his gaze and attempting to look disinterested. “Oh my god, it _is_ the cook. The little thing I pulled off the streets in Neleons.”

“Well, she keeps brushing me off, wants to concentrate on her job or some such rot. I’m working on wearing her down, but she’s a hard one. I can’t tell if I’m making progress or if she’s really just not interested in me and is trying to be nice.”

Rumple speculated, “Oh, I think she’s probably interested in you. You’re quite the catch.”

“Maybe,” Jefferson shook his head. The two men had finished their breakfast and Rumple helped his friend clean up from their meal.

“Now for business. Just how is your ‘little hobby’ going?” Rumple asked him as he finished drying the plates.

“Come and see.”

In another part of the cottage, in a larger well-lit room, the two men congregated and checked out the small unprepossessing metal device sitting on a sturdy wooden table.

“This is it?”

Jefferson nodded.

“It’s finished?”

Jefferson nodded again.

“Not very big.”

“No, but one of these can knock out a city block and it would leave intense fires in its wake – fires that could do who knows how much damage,” Jefferson explained.

Rumple nodded somberly. “I can’t help but wonder if we aren’t agents of the devil – such a weapon of destruction – capable of taking out the guilty and the innocent.”

Jefferson stood by, equally glum. “There have been so many times that I’ve come close to scrapping it. I’m not sure I like this dealing with kings and emperors and such – it was easier when you were just making deals for spice runs and I needed to make your engines work faster.”

“I’m having my own second thoughts.” Rumple considered, “Let’s lock it up, at least for now. If anyone asks, I’ll be telling them that you’re stymied and nothing’s ready yet.”

“And I’ll keep hiding out here and engineering the infrequent explosion to preserve the illusion that I’m still working on it,” Jefferson agreed.

**Alone in the Morning**

Belle had stretched, unfamiliar muscles twinging. She realized that she was not only alone but unclothed. She had never slept unclothed in her entire life and it felt deliciously decadent. She remembered experiencing bliss in the arms of her husband, unexpected and wonderful, and then recalled falling into a deep sleep with his arms around her.

She was disappointed to find he had gone. His clothing was gone too, as if he’d never been with her. She sighed. She assumed that Jefferson would know his whereabouts if she inquired.

_And where was Jefferson?_ She had not seen the affable majordomo except in passing since coming to Pink House. She knew he had separate quarters on the grounds of the estate and had the impression that he spent a lot of time in his own little cottage – where, according to Sally, there would be the occasional explosion. Belle wondered what the man was doing out there by himself.

She rose and ran herself a warm bath, appreciative of the marvels of modern plumbing the house offered. She looked herself over. Other than a little staining between her thighs, there were no obvious signs that her marriage had been consummated.  She certainly didn’t look any different. 

But she did feel different.

After the bath, she slipped on a robe and rang the bell for assistance. She was attempting the daunting task of selecting a dress for the day when she heard the knock on the door.

“Mum?” someone called out softly.

“Come in, Sally.”

“We didn’t think you’d be getting up so early,” Sally told her.

“I’m not one to lie abed, Sally,” Belle let her know. “I have a guest coming for afternoon tea and need to talk with Cook, Miss Joanna, and Lumiere as soon as possible . . . and Jefferson, of course.”

Sally pulled out several day dresses for her to consider and she selected a sweet soft blue one with white lace.

“This one is so pretty on you, mum,” Sally told her. “It matches your eyes.” Sally was helping style her hair, putting it up and curling the ends around her face.

Once attired, Belle went down to the small dining room and called in Jefferson, Lumiere, Joanna and the dark-skinned, very pretty cook, Miss Tiana.

“I have a prestigious guest coming for tea and I need to make appropriate arrangements,” she began. She smiled at them. “I do so appreciate your assistance with this. I’ve arranged for the feeding of two hundred sheepherders, Yule morning breakfasts for the entire household staff and spring picnics for an entire village,” she said to them. “I know my husband would wish for me to personally oversee this, but, I must confess, formal afternoon teas are not something with which I’m experienced.”

Lumiere nodded, “Madam, if I may, I suggest you first talk with Cook Tiana to get her recommendations for the food. You will also need to work with Madame Joanna to get the proper linens prepared and to be sure that the front hall and the drawing room are properly cleaned. If you please, I will add the finishing touches – flowers, the buffet set-up, the staff attire, the little important details.”

“That all sounds lovely. So, Miss Tiana, Miss Joanna, if you will, I’ll need your recommendations as quickly as possible.”

Miss Tiana nodded. “There’ll just be one guest?” she asked.

“I think so, but I’d prefer to prepare for more, just in case,” Belle told her.

Tiana nodded again. “I suggest several types of sandwiches, perhaps cucumber and smoked salmon, and then watercress with chicken salad should be enough for a small tea. I would also recommend a wild mushroom tart and some Stilton with fig preserves. And scones, of course, unless you might be willing to take a chance on one of my own specialties – some beignets – I have some dough I could have ready by this afternoon. I also make a lovely lavender-lemon tea cake.” Tiana considered. “It’s the wrong time of year for clafouti, so instead, perhaps some treacle tarts,” she reeled off a complete menu with ease, then added, “I’ll need a helper in the kitchen.” She looked at Joanna.

“Sally or Susie? I can’t spare both,” Joanna told her.

“Susie, I think,” Tiana told her.

“That menu sounds perfect, including the beignets,” Belle told her.

Tiana curtsied and headed back down to the kitchens to start preparing the food.

Joanna then spoke to Belle. “I’ll get the household staff to report to Lumiere right away. And I’ve got several lovely suggestions for the linens.”

“Something light please,” Belle requested. “That drawing room is so dark.”

“Got just the right things, I think. They’ll just need a quick ironing. I’ll put Sally to work.” And she bustled off.

Lumiere nodded. “Once we have the linens, I’ll suggest the china that is appropriate. I’ll also be getting your approval on the crystal that you want to use.”

“Thank you so much. Until I become more familiar with what’s available, I will have to rely on your excellent recommendations,” Belle told him with a smile. “Oh, and Monsieur Lumiere, I shall be asking your advice shortly. The Master has given me permission to redecorate and I would be appreciative of your assistance.”

Lumiere flushed and gave her a short bow before leaving to begin his tasks. After he had left, Belle turned and saw that Jefferson was smiling at her.

“You did well, darling,” he addressed her familiarly. “Enlisting Lumiere’s help is the best way to manage him. You may never have scheduled an afternoon tea, but the staff here is very practiced with such and they seem quite willing to help you.”

“Thank you,” she said, gratefully. “My husband and I had a lengthy conversation last night and he has helped me understand the role he wishes me to have in our marriage.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. “And do you have any particular requests for me?”

Belle hesitated before asking the question she most wanted to have answered. “Where is he?”

“Business. Business as usual,” Jefferson told her softly.

“Of course.” _Her husband was, first and foremost, a powerful businessman with many interests and enterprises._ She sighed, “Let the grounds staff know that someone is coming. And I’ve just heard about your tendency for creating explosions. Could you please curtail that?” She smiled at him.

“I’ll put away my experiments for the duration of the tea,” Jefferson promised.

“I can’t think of anything else, but I’m in over my head, and I’m depending on everyone to let me know if I’ve forgotten anything. Oh, of course, you’ll be greeting the Duchess.”

“Duchess Nolan?” he asked, confirming what Rumple had told him earlier.

“Yes,” she told him.

“Little Emma’s mother then,” he replied. At Belle’s questioning look, he expanded, “I met the Nolan’s daughter when she was eleven and riding her horse through our grounds, climbing our trees and swimming in our fish pond. She was quite the little harum-scarum. She resisted everyone’s efforts to turn her into a lady and I think the Nolans were relieved when she settled down with Bae.”

“Bae?” Belle questioned. She’d heard this name. _Wasn’t this. . . her husband’s son?_

“Bae Stiltskin,” Jefferson confirmed.

“Oh,” she told him. _This did make things more complicated. Apparently, she and Mary Margaret were in-laws._

**Unexpected Visitors**

It was three and the house was bustling with activity. Belle had changed into one of her elegant white lace dresses. Sally had threaded a blue ribbon into her hair, keeping the look simple, even innocent.  Belle was surprised when Lumiere came to tell her that there was a messenger waiting to see her. Holding her breath, expecting that Mary Margaret had come to her senses and decided not to come to tea at Pink House, she went out into the foyer of the large home.

It was a mature man, dark and heavy set, obviously armed. “Got a package for ye’ mum,” he gave her a short bow and handed her a box wrapped in shiny white paper and tied with a red ribbon. “Ye have to sign that you got it,” he explained. “Tip’s been taken care of.”

Belle signed her name and the man left. Belle opened the box, tearing the pretty paper and lifting the lid of the box. It was a slender diamond bracelet set with the odd sapphire. It was breathtaking. Inside the box was also a note.

It was from her husband.

_Dearest, bravest Belle,_

_I enjoyed our time together and look forward to many more such times. I have enclosed a small token of my appreciation and send my regrets that I shall have to be away for a while to attend to urgent business._

_Your devoted husband,_

_Rumple_

She was disappointed.

She couldn’t help but be disappointed.

Sally, who’d been helping her, was holding up the bracelet. “This be right beautiful, mum. Them blue stones match your eyes.”

“They’re sapphires,” Belle replied absently.

“You wan’ t’ put it on now?” Sally asked her.

Belle considered. _Why not?_ She held out her hand and Sally fastened the string of diamonds and sapphires around her wrist.

There was another knock at the front door and Lumiere opened it. He frowned and shook his head, murmuring something to the person on the front stoop. He glanced back at Belle and turned back again to the person, clearly arguing with the would-be intruder. Belle stepped forward.

“Is there something with which I can be helpful?” she asked. Lumiere stepped back and Belle could see a woman standing at the door.

Belle’s initial impression was the woman might be a gypsy or some sort of wandering entertainer. She was of average size with long blonde hair decorated with ribbons and braids. She wore a black hooded cloak shot through with dark red ribbons. Her ruby red satin skirt was short, revealing polished heeled boots. Several thick gold chains hung around her neck. She wore black crocheted gloves with a wide frilly lace edging. She was smoking a slender cigarette. She smiled at Belle.

“Lady Stiltskin,” the woman gave her a short curtsey. “If I promise to keep my visit very short, may I be allowed in to talk with you privately. I am a . . . business associate of your husband.”

Lumiere was clearly not pleased to see this woman, but Belle was not sure there would be any real harm in seeing the woman for a brief moment.

“I can only spare you a few minutes,” she explained.

The woman swept in, “That should be more than enough time.”

As she walked by, Lumiere reached over and plucked the cigarette from her hand. “The place will smell bad enough,” he muttered.

Belle led her into the small drawing room, now lightened with white and yellow linens. “May I offer you a drink?” Belle began.

“White wine,” the woman told her, and Belle dutifully poured her a glass.

“Please have a seat,” Belle motioned to the little red velvet sofa, and the two women sat down.

The woman turned to face her. “I am sorry to impose on you. My name is Mrs. Gothel. I have a long-standing business association with your husband. He often has clients who have exact and precise requests for . . . companionship, and he finds that I can usually fulfill those requirements.  You see, I run an . . . establishment that is devoted to . . . adult entertainment. Most recently your husband commissioned me to make arrangements for a special, very powerful, client of his. I have been trying to get a message to Master Stiltskin, but he is a difficult man to reach sometimes. The meeting is confirmed for two weeks from now.”

“I should be able to get a message to him through his majordomo,” Belle told her.

The woman finished off the wine. “I can see that you are a real lady – unlike some of the strumpets the man has had here.” She reached out and brushed Belle’s face with the back of her hand. “You’re a very pretty thing. I had heard that Rumple had found himself an attractive bride. We were all quite surprised, given his peculiar preferences, when we heard the news.”

The woman hesitated, then reached into a small bag she had hung around her waist. She handed Belle a plain business card. “Should you ever get bored, I can assure you that I am extremely discreet. I host any number of noblewomen who spend an evening a week in my establishment, some receiving . . . some offering . . . services.”

“Thank you,” Belle smiled. “Two weeks from now,” she repeated the message the woman had given her.

“Exactly so,” the woman nodded and stood to leave. “Now, I can see you are expecting guests for tea. I shall have the good taste to remove myself before they arrive.”

Lumiere was waiting for her and escorted her out. He watched to make sure her oddly decorated green carriage went directly out of the driveway.

Belle was looking at the card the woman had given her when Lumiere came back into the house.  The card read, “Tower House, Mother Gothel.”

“What an odd woman,” she said to him.

“She is not received in polite society, madame,” Lumiere informed her. “Forgive me if I speak plainly but I feel you are no schoolroom miss and you should know. She runs a house . . . a bordello where all manner of disgusting, sinful activities are available. They call it Gothel’s Brothel although the official name is Tower House.”

“Indeed. Well, she had a simple message for my husband. Send someone for Jefferson so that I can pass it on to him,” Belle requested. _So, her husband who had sworn to her that he had no dealings with the pandering of women, did have some sort of arrangement with the head of a notorious brothel, with a woman he’d charged with setting up an assignation for a special client._ Belle took a deep breath. She would have to think over this another time. She had a tea to prepare herself for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle serves tea. Later, she aids Young Love.
> 
> Rumple follows up with Gothel (no, he’s not happy). Later, his resolve regarding his new wife begins to crumble.


	8. Unpleasant Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle serves tea. Later, she aids Young Love.  
> Rumple follows up with Gothel (no, he’s not happy). Later, his resolve regarding his new wife begins to crumble.

**Afternoon Tea and Confessions**

“I have to confess something,” Mary Margaret told her.

They were sharing tea and sitting out on the terrace connected to the hideous Red Drawing Room. Belle had forced herself to mentally shelve the disconcerting visit from the brothel keeper and how this might relate to her husband’s business dealings. _This would have to be dealt with later._

The staff had softened the look of the overly-red, overly-wrought room with creamy white and yellow linens, a sweet, soft-yellow china, and spring daffodils in vases. The food was superb and served with charm by young Susie in a formal black and white maid’s outfit.

Already, under Mary Margaret’s tutelage, Belle had begun to dutifully take notes and had started the involved job of setting up her own social calendar. _It was really little different from managing the duties she’d had in her father’s earldom, but instead of ‘shearing the sheep,’ she was writing ‘attend the Mission Charity Gathering.’_

Mary Margaret hesitated. “I must tell you . . . and I suspect you may already know. My husband told me that you would be attending my gala last night and I was to be ‘very nice’ to you. It’s important to him that we don’t do anything to alienate your husband – we owe him so much and, I suspect, that if we angered him, that he could squelch most of our sources of revenue.”

“I see,” Belle said evenly.

“I was steeling myself for . . . well, I don’t know. I couldn’t imagine what kind of young woman Stiltskin might have persuaded to marry him.” She paused. “I am embarrassed to admit this, but I guess I was thinking that you would be some floozy he’d picked up in a bar or . . . or some mousy country rube he’d married as payment for a debt.  I wasn’t expecting to find you so . . . just so nice and so accomplished. Please, please forgive me. Even if I hadn’t been asked to befriend you, I would have liked you.”

Belle considered her response. “Actually, your ‘debt-ridden country rube’ is pretty accurate,” she told her new friend. “My father, the Earl of Avonlea, is titled and respectable, but we have fallen on difficult times. Our crops failed several years in a row. There was an epidemic of scrappie among our sheep. And the Emperor has siphoned off almost all of our young men for his army.”

Mary Margaret interrupted. “Oh Belle darling, I think you should know. The Emperor is not conscripting men for his army, hasn’t been in a long time. The only one I know who is doing this is the Archduke Killian. Avonlea is under his ultimate jurisdiction and he has been claiming he is building his army to protect the lands from the Oznian Over-Witch.”

Belle took a sip of tea. “Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I don’t know if my father knows this. So, it is Archduke Killian who has some responsibility for Avonlea’s fall from grace.”

“I guess that Stiltskin saw some merits in joining his property with Avonlea – the two lands are adjacent, aren’t they?”

Belle nodded in confirmation. “The marriage benefits both our families.”

“So, it was an arrangement then?” Mary Margaret clarified.

“Yes, I first met my husband at the altar.”

Mary Margaret sat still for a moment. “Your story is not unusual. So many of my friends have been married under like circumstances. Has he . . . I am being very forward here, and please tell me if I’m intruding, but has he . . . been kind to you?”

“So far, I’ve no cause to regret my decision. I hear from my father regularly that wonderful things are happening on the family estate. Stiltskin is certainly keeping his end of the agreement there.”

“Of course, the man is known for keeping his deals.  Even though those lands will eventually be his, it is good to hear he is taking care of things,” Mary Margaret agreed. She hesitated, “I have heard rumors about your husband. That he is . . . “

“A difficult man to love?” Belle completed the thought.

Mary Margaret smiled. “Yes, that. There are these other rumors, likely highly embellished fabrications . . . well . . .” she did not finish her thoughts. She put her hand on Belle’s, then asked, “So, you are happy?”

Belle nodded. _This lovely woman invited confidences, but Belle didn’t feel she could share her persistent concerns regarding her husband’s business practices._ “I think so,” she managed to answer honestly.

“Then you are a lucky woman.” Mary Margaret sat back.

“Like you?” Belle asked.

Mary Margaret smiled. “Like me.”

 

**A Visit to the Tower**

It was early evening and Gothel knew that clients would begin to arrive after sundown. Yesterday had been very profitable, although she was well aware that she had been risking Stiltskin’s ire by trespassing into his private life.

She was in her own room, dressing for work, checking the front ties of her corset, a cream colored one that set off her pale skin and blonde hair. The room was lit only with candles and steeped in a perfume imbued with heady, acrid undertones.

“I would have expected to find your undergarments were black and red. It’s what you expect a whore to wear.”

She startled and turned toward the voice which had come from a dark corner of her room.

“How the hell did you get in?” she demanded.

The man stepped out of the shadows. “How do you think? You don’t pay your staff as well as you should.”

She turned her back to the man, returning to the task of dressing herself. “I’ve been expecting you to call on me. I’m sure you’re upset about my visit with your little wife.”

He got right to the point. “You are never to come to Brookstry again, Gothel. Do you understand me?”

“I wasn’t able to get a message to you any other way,” she said blandly, clearly not intimidated by the man. “And I thought you would want to know as soon as possible.”

“If you couldn’t find me, you know to approach Jefferson. It’s what we’ve always done. In the future, if you need to get word to me, I don’t give a bloody damn if the entire Empire is at stake, you are not to approach my wife.”

Gothel looked at him, a slow smile coming to her face. “So, it _is_ true. You _do_ have some feelings for your little bride.”

“It has nothing to do with my feelings for the woman. I’d advise any decent woman to cross the street rather than risk having her shoes come into contact with the sidewalk you’d just contaminated.”

“Oooh, my feelings are hurt,” she said insincerely. “I would think that you just don’t want to have to explain to your wife why you’re acquainted with a brothel keeper.” She got up to come over to him. “You know, she’s not what I would have picked for you – so innocent and pure. I would have thought that you would have wanted someone who could stand up to a couple of hours being lashed on a saltire cross.” She brushed against him. “Or up to lashing you for a couple of hours. If that bit of fluff was one of my girls, I’d have her doing Daddy’s Little Girl with some of my octogenarians.”

Rumple glared at her and folded his arms. “Listen, you two-bit strumpet,” he spoke softly. “You have been paid well for arranging this assignation. When it’s over, I don’t want to have any more to do with you.”

“Really, Rumple?” She laid her hand on his chest. “Do you really think someone so sweet and wholesome will ever satisfy your appetites? I know what kind of man you are. I know what you like and you’re a very dirty boy.”

Rumple caught her hand and held onto it tightly enough to cause Gothel to wince. “Approach my wife again and you’ll spend two days in suspension in your back dungeon playroom. I’ll invite everyone to come and play and, you well know, some of your customers like to play rough. I think many of them would enjoy fucking you although I can’t think of anyone I would want less than you.”

“Such a tough talker,” she was not impressed.

“Make yourself scarce when my client shows up and . . . and when the woman he’s asked for is brought in. The Dark One will be accompanying her and you don’t want to cross him,” he gave his final orders and left.

Gothel sat down to compose herself. _The Dark One? So Stiltskin did have dealings with the notorious pirate. She wondered how seducible he might be – it could be nice having this Dark One as a friend . . . or lover._

 

**Young Love**

After a night with no husband, Belle rose early and rode the ever-gentle Lady around the grounds. She had been working to win over the prickly, suspicious large black stallion who always seemed protective of her little mare, so she would bring double treats, something for the mare and something for the stallion.

This morning, as she strolled down to the stables she surprised Daniel and the young Princess Regina. Regina was crying and clinging to Daniel.

He looked up when he saw Belle come into the stables.

“Lady Cora be wantin’ Regina t’ marry some old guy, older than her father an’ Regina doan wan’ to,” he explained.

“Oh, my. What are you going to do?” Belle asked.

“Well, mum. We’ve been talkin’ about it for a while . . .” Daniel started.

Regina turned to her, sniffing and wiping her nose. “We want to run away and get married. We’ve been in love for three years, Lady Belle.”

Daniel agreed. “What’s between us . . . it’s real. It’s lastin’. It’s true love.”

“Are you going to stop us?” Regina asked.

Belle considered. She certainly didn’t care for Cora – she thought Cora was a singularly unpleasant woman. And if what Regina was telling her – that her mother wanted her to marry a man far older than herself – well, that was just wrong. Daniel, during the short time she’d known him, had impressed her as being a nice, hard-working young man.

“Come with me,” she told the two. They followed her with some trepidation, back into the house, into the downstairs drawing room. Belle pulled out some official Stiltskin stationery. “I’m going to write a letter of recommendation for you, Daniel, and give you four weeks’ severance pay. I know two weeks is considered standard, so consider the other two weeks a wedding gift.”

“Oh, Lady Belle. I’ve got a little of my jewelry and Daniel has saved up some, but the extra money will certainly help,” Regina told her.

“Well, the Brick Waystation needs some workers. It’s out of the way and people might not look for you there. Might I suggest you change your name? I can write the recommendation for . . . “

“’Ow ‘bout writin’ it for Johnny Walker,’” Daniel suggested.

“Johnny Walker it is,” Belle agreed. “Now, if you can’t find anything at the Waystation, go on into Avonlea. There are plenty of jobs there now,” Belle suggested.

“Mum, if there is ever anything we can do for you . . . “ Daniel began.

“You’ll pay me back by living a long, happy, healthy life,” she told the two.

Regina impulsively hugged Belle. “Thank you.” The younger woman hesitated. “I can’t really thank you enough. I know if I stayed on with my mother, I might very well have ended up just like her and . . . I don’t want to be like her.”

“Mum, I warn’t plannin’ on leavin’ you in a lurch. Me Uncle Andre has tole me he’s willin’ to come and take me place here if that’d be all right with you,” Daniel suggested. “He taught me everythin’ I know.”

Belle nodded and spoke as the two were about to head out. “Take one of the wagons and two of the draft horses, Daniel.

“Thank you, mum. I’ll be sending ye money t’ pay for ‘em when we get settled.”

“Regina,” Belle called after the couple. “You may want to send your mother a message to let her know you’re all right when it looks safe to do so. No matter what she’s done, she is still your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Regina agreed.

Belle watched the two scamper across the grounds, back to the stable and hoped, fervently hoped that she had done the right thing.

 

Uncle Andre showed up the next morning. He was a large man, very large, and, not only knew about horses but was quite knowledgeable about gardening. Belle approved of him nearly immediately.

 

Over the next week, her days melted into a routine. After an early morning ride, she’d have breakfast, usually eating with a staff member. She’d then briefly meet with Lumiere to go over the household’s schedule.  She would review the appointments for her day, soon finding that she was quite busy. There were on-going events to attend, on-going events to host, letters to write, the household to oversee, dresses to try on and now, but never her husband to entertain.

And then there was the redecoration. It was going quickly since most of the changes were merely cosmetic, in many instances just a fresh coat of paint or replacing the older, dark heavy furniture with new lighter pieces.

She and Lumiere had agreed that she would first focus on her own bedroom suite and the little drawing room downstairs where she would be spending her time entertaining other ladies. She had already had the wall’s recovered with a soft cream color and replaced the thick dull red carpets with a few tightly woven beige carpets.

In her own bedroom, she’d added some pretty black and blue area rugs placing them by the bed and door, allowing the light wood of the flooring to be visible. She had replaced the bedding with soft blues and creams and the curtains with blue-grey velvet on top of cream sheers. She had purchased a proper writing desk and provided herself with good lighting. She’d also installed several bookcases which were beginning to fill up.   

She’d made similar changes in the drawing room, opening up the place to light and lightness.

“This doesn’t look like th’ same room, mum,” Miss Joanna had told her. “It’s so much more invitin’, like a bit o’ sunshine in an ocean o’ darkness.”

Mary Margaret had become a regular guest and she had quite agreed. “That red room was ghastly. This is so much more lively and pleasant.”

The only thing that was lacking in her otherwise busy, happy life was her husband’s presence. There were on-going deliveries of flowers, jewelry and special, odd treats, such as chocolates, from the man, but he still seemed invested in avoiding his wife, at least his wife’s bedroom and her bed. Belle couldn’t be sure if he was really as busy as he appeared to be, if he didn’t like her company, or . . . or, just why he was absent so often.

**The Downtown Office**

Rumple was spending more and more of his time holed up in his downtown office – a cluttered facility with a backroom cot. He was able to sit in the back of the large display room and observe everyone who came in. Today, as he had on many other days, he sat in the center of his web, as ever, doubting himself.

He should have never followed through and consummated his marriage.

Not that it hadn’t been one of the supreme moments of his entire life, the woman was as giving and responsive as he could have ever hoped her to be. Not that he hadn’t wanted to stay with her, keeping her soft warm body nestled against his own. Not that he hadn’t wanted to tell her everything, all the dark, dirty secrets he was holding on to, knowing that at some point . . . at some point, she would uncover the truth and would certainly be gone from his life – he was that objectionable.

Yes, he recognized that he was falling under the quiet spell of his new wife. Truth was, she fascinated him. She was not only beautiful . . . and brave . . . she was likely one of the smartest individuals he’d ever met. He enjoyed her vivacious company, her pleasant conversation. He liked hearing her insightful opinions on people. He very much wanted to be near her, craving her attention. He very much wanted to share her bed again – if she was open to this. He knew she had to be wondering why he had not sought her out again, so he continued to assuage his guilt with gifts.

He knew he couldn’t let anyone know that he had any affection for his bride – he wanted their marriage to appear to be a business deal and nothing more.

And he was afraid that if he was seen too much in her company, if anyone looked at him while he was in her company, they would be able to tell that he had affection, perhaps a little more than affection, for the woman.

And this could be dangerous for her.

But how could he stay away?

 

He had to check on her. After his confrontation with Gothel, he had to see his wife again.

This particular evening, he just walked into her bedroom, dismissing young Sally who’d been helping with Belle’s clothing.

“My lord, I did not know you would be home,” she told him, continuing to braid her long hair in preparation for bed.

“Just this evening. I probably should apologize for being gone so much of the time, but I am so very busy,” he told her.

“I understand. Life in the capital is also keeping me very busy, but to be honest, I’m not sure what I’m really getting done.”

He smiled at her. “Sounds like you’re fitting in very well.”

He looked at her for a while, drinking in her porcelain beauty, her kindness, her soft smiles, everything that was haunting him when he was separated from her.

He began talking, rambling really, sharing bits and pieces of what he had been up to and listening when she would add information she had obtained from her social contacts.

Belle learned that her husband had expanded his efforts to bring timber down from the far north and pink granite in from Avonlea. One of her husband’s biggest projects was about to embark on road improvements in her father’s Earldom. His idea was that if materials and supplies could reach areas, it would not only bring necessary and desired merchandise, but it would generate more jobs.

She also learned that young Gwen was definitely having an affair, one of the heart and, rumors were that Arthur was frantic to win back his wife. 

Rumple enjoyed himself listening to his wife’s perceptions. He sat marveling at the information she had picked up and the conclusions she was able to draw from what she had heard. She shared with him that the Archduke Killian had been assigned to a special task force -- something to do with the sky pirates. 

“Really?” he’d asked. “You found out about that?” He seemed surprised.

“Yes. I got the information straight from Ella Shoecastle who got it from her husband who is Arthur’s number two man,” she’d confirmed. “And Arthur is working for Killian.”

“Excellent, my Lady Wife. You may not be aware, but this Task Force is supposed to be a State Secret, known only to a very few. I have been aware of this but it’s interesting to hear that you were able to confirm it.” He sat quietly for a moment before speaking up again. “Killian has asked me to be on the task force and . . . reluctantly, because I’m already quite busy enough already, I have agreed,” he told her.

Belle nodded. “I perhaps should tell you that I don’t particularly like the Duke.” Her husband had snorted and then had become pensive.

“You know, he and I have a history?”

Belle nodded, “Jefferson told me. You were married before me and had a son. You wife . . . left you, annulled your marriage, and then married the Duke.”

“I blame him for the dissolution of my marriage, for stealing the affections of Milah, my first wife,” Stiltskin admitted. He sat for a moment before looking up at Belle.  “Of course, Milah was a most willing participant in Killian’s seduction.”

“I’m sorry, my lord. Her betrayal must have made you reluctant to bestow your affections on another woman.”

He startled. “It’s true. I don’t easily trust women . . . or men, for that matter.”

“I understand,” she said softly. She bit her lip. “Would you . . . would you tell me more about your first wife?”

 He didn’t answer right away, and, for a moment, she thought she may have offended him. But after a time, he began to speak. “Her father had approached my father about a marriage between us – I suspect there were financial issues at the heart of the man’s offer. For myself, I thought Milah was lovely and I was young enough to believe I could fall in love with her with little effort. But, I think . . .  I know now, she was not so impressed by me. She was embarrassed that I was in business, even though I had more money than her own family and my money kept her in pretty dresses. None of that was enough for her. I  . . . wasn’t enough for her. I . . . embarrassed her. She would tell me that I dressed like a common laborer and smelled like cabbages and dock tar. She would complain that I was . . . inadequate when it came to the performance of my marital duties.”

“And she took your son with her when she left and, whatever happened next, he wants no contact with you.”

He nodded.

“Mary Margaret likes your son and thinks he’s been very good for her daughter,” Belle shared.

“Ah yes, Emma, wild Emma. My memories of young Emma is her climbing my trees and swimming in her unmentionables in my fish pond. She was an outspoken, opinionated young woman. I think it likely that if Emma were my wife, she would be spending a good deal of her time across my knee.”

Belle looked up at her husband. “You don’t seem to me to be the kind of man who would hit a woman,” she told him.

“But I might think about it were Emma my wife, but . . . you’re right. I have the silly notion that a husband and wife should have common goals and be able to work together. If a man feels he has to beat his wife, he will never have a partner he can trust and depend upon.” He shrugged, “Miss Emma seems to genuinely love my son and abides by his wishes or at least does not express her differing opinions in public.”

“I’ve not met Emma or your son.”

“I’ve not seen him in  . . . more than ten years. I wasn’t invited to the wedding. I didn’t get the birth announcement for my grandson. We are. not. speaking.”

“I’m sorry. There were  . . . are . . . problems, I’m guessing,” Belle said softly.

“Quite. He did not approve of  . . . some of my business practices. It was during the early years and things were . . . difficult. I was . . . I was using some strong-arm tactics, threats, physical violence,” he confessed. “I have long since abandoned such practices. I find that there is much more elegance in using the law to take down my opponents – the fine point of a pen over the point of a sword. But, the harm had been done and . . . I don’t know if it’s possible to repair the damage.”

“But, I don’t understand something,” she began. “Killian was responsible for your first marriage coming apart, but I thought that Killian counted himself among your friends.”

“As I said, I’ve grown and learned since those early days. Killian is a Duke. He has the Emperor’s ear. Years ago, he needed money to cover some gambling debts. In fact, he often needs money to cover his debts, gambling, bad investments, and the like. I’ve continued to bail him out and  . . .”

“So, you’re supporting him and your ex-wife!” Belle realized.

“I think that he may yet be useful,” Stiltskin told her.

She narrowed her eyes. “I think that this may be more along the lines of ‘revenge is a dish best served cold.’”

He laughed. Her stern, implacable husband actually laughed. “I was most fortunate in selecting you for my wife,” he told her. “You may understand me better than anyone.”

“So, if he is on the brink of bankruptcy, how is he able to able to finance an army?” Belle asked quietly.

Rumple sat up. “So, you know about the little army he’s been building up.” He looked away and did not respond right away. “We’re . . . I’m . . . not sure how he’s managing to make payroll. That is an interesting question. I have suspicions, but I don’t have an answer.”

He sat up, stretching out his leg and rubbing his knee. “You may be interested in knowing that I have the deed to his family’s estate. It was the security that he offered for my last ‘loan.’ If I wish, I can call it in and, if he can’t pay up . . .”

“Which he probably would not be able to,” Belle interceded.

“Then I could end up evicting him . . . and his trampy wife who happens to be my delightful ex-wife.” He smiled at her and his eyes turned dark. “Now, this is enough chatter.”

“You are planning to stay the night?” she asked him softly.

“If you’re amenable to . . . me staying – yes, I would very much like to stay the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle gets some answers (but can she trust what he says?)  
> The Dark One oversees an assignation.


	9. More Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle gets some answers (can she trust what he says?)  
> The Dark One oversees an assignation.

“You would like to spend the night . . . with me? I would like that,” she told him, rising and coming over to him. He put his arm around her and pulled her down into his lap.

“I see you have been re-decorating.” He slipped the thin shoulder strap of her chemise down her arm and ran his fingertips up her arm.

“I started with my own bedroom and I’ve had some work done in the little drawing-room downstairs. I hope you like the changes. Red has never been my favorite color.”

“It’s never been one of mine either,” he conceded and placed a soft kiss on her neck.

“But the entire house . . .  ?” Belle began.

He was continuing to kiss her neck, drinking in her fragrance, one hand on her waist, the other caressing her arm. He interrupted, “ . . . was decorated by Cora. Now, understand, I am most uninterested in talking about Cora at the moment, my dear, but . . . if it would help things along, let me assure you that she was never my mistress. She was someone I was trying to help out. She was clearly more interested in my money than in me and, I soon discovered, was even more interested in Henry’s title than in my money, so after briefly moving in and acting the mistress of this house, she moved out. As far as I’m concerned, you can re-decorate the entire bloody house, the sooner the better – except, of course, my upstairs study.” He punctuated his remarks by placing little kisses along the line of her neck and jaw eliciting shivers from his little wife.

Belle had entwined her fingers in her husband’s hair and decided to try kissing his ear. He had jumped when her lips had come into contact with his sensitive earlobe and, he had turned on her. “You are a minx,” he complained.

“Just enjoying my husband’s attentions – which I would rather have than jewels or pretty presents,” she told him and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Well, after I left so abruptly the other morning, well . . .  I thought . . . I thought I needed to do something to let you know that I was not displeased with you,” he apologized.

“Next time, try staying long enough to tell me. But, if you can’t be here, then one of your letters is enough. When you buy me expensive gifts,” she sighed, “it makes me feel . . .  rather cheap. Like I’ve been bought and paid for.”

He frowned. “This . . . this is a novelty for me, Lady Wife. My other female acquaintances have always expected expensive gifts. Am I to understand that . . . you don’t?”

Belle smiled at him. “We-ell, the chocolates are very nice, but no, I don’t want or need gifts. Don’t you understand? It’s like you’re trying to use _things_ to take the place of _feelings_.”

“Perceptive – that is exactly what I’m doing. I felt bad that I had to go and thought I could make up for things with a diamond bracelet.” He considered, “So, just a heartfelt letter next time. I think I can do that.”

She had dropped a hand to begin to pull off the ever-present cravat. “Now, tell me about Mrs. Gothel . . . or should I say Mother Gothel?”

He had the grace to wince. “Another witch from my past. I was told she came here to see you to give me a message.”

“You’d arranged to provide a woman for one of your clients?” Belle persisted, pulling back, her eyes narrowing.

He closed his eyes. She was not going to let this drop. “It’s not what you think. I have a very powerful, very important client who had been wanting to make the acquaintance of a woman who has independent means and is very powerful in her own right. I am one of the few men in the country who actually knows this woman and I was asked to act as a go-between to see if she would agree to meet with my client. She was quite agreeable and they both wanted to meet in the most unlikely place possible. The woman suggested they meet in a brothel.”

Belle screwed up her face. “Really?”

“I know, that story doesn’t make much sense, but this is . . . well, it’s the most I feel comfortable sharing. This isn’t my secret.”

“Well, if we’re sharing I should probably tell you that I assisted with Daniel’s and Princess Regina’s elopement.” She started to kiss him again.

He nearly choked. “What?”

“I discovered them sneaking away. Regina shared that her mother wanted her to marry some man three times her age, and so, I sent them off to Brick Waystation with a reference for Daniel.”

“Cora will be furious,” was the first thing he said.

“Well, that’s just a bonus for helping out a nice young couple in love,” Belle told him, her eyes wide with innocence.

He rested his head on her shoulder and he took several deep breaths. “Remind me not to get on your dark side. I’m afraid that in a confrontation you would be pretty formidable.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Now, any more questions? Any more confessions?” he asked. “I’m hoping not. I really want to discover the exact dimensions of your nipples using just my tongue.”

Belle giggled. “I think I’d like that,” she told him. And she lent her attention to working the buttons of his vest.

“If I were a whole man, this would be the moment I would carry you to your bed.”

“We can walk there,” she told him, slipping off his lap and pulling him up so that he could lean on her to walk the short distance to the bed. He did not immediately follow her onto the bed, stopping to finish removing his vest and his shirt, dropping these onto the floor. He sat on the side of the bed and removed his boots, then slipped off his pants, increasing the height of the pile of discarded clothing. He reached for Belle, but she pulled back.

Her eyes twinkling, she cocked her head, “Why don’t I take my clothes off for you?”

_His wife had just offered to take her clothes off for him._

He coughed, “That . . . that would be nice.”

Bolstered by his evident admiration, Belle began the slow process of slipping off her stockings. She stopped to grin at him and reached under her chemise to tug down her little panties.

He held out his hand. “May I hold on to those for you?” he asked

She pulled them off and dropped them into his hand.

“Do you have any idea how good you smell?” he asked her, lifting the panties to his nose.

“You make me blush, sir,” she told him.

“I intend to make you do a lot more than blush,” he promised her.

She looked down at herself. “Oh dear, I don’t seem to have anything else on except this little chemise.” She stopped and began to unbraid her hair, pulling out the strands, running her fingers through her hair, so that it fell down her shoulders like a mahogany waterfall.

He wasn’t moving, watching her rather like a cat with a mouse.

“Perhaps you should take off the rest of your clothing,” she suggested.

He nodded, locking eyes with her. He slipped off the one close garment that he’d left on, unashamed of his body’s response to her.

“Madame,” he motioned for her to continue.

She quickly pulled the chemise up over her head and held it before her breasts.

“You can drop that over the side of the bed,” he suggested, his voice low and husky.

Belle took a deep breath and complied.

“Things should be easier this time,” he told her, reaching for her.

Belle melted into him, knowing what awaited her and eager for his touch, his kisses.

“I’m sorry I stayed away,” he muttered an apology.

“You’re here now,” she gasped.

“That I am,” he agreed. He felt a surge of confidence – he knew he could give her pleasure and set about accomplishing such, touching her, caressing her, using his fingers, his lips, his tongue, quickly pulling her along. He’d started at her mouth and had worked his way down, stopping to do as he had promised, ascertaining the exact shape of her erect nipples using his mouth and his tongue. He continued on, stopping now and again to offer special attention on other tender, susceptible places on her body. She was eager this time, closing her eyes and, unprotesting as he touched her thighs and then beginning to tease and massage her central core. 

He liked the little sounds she made, her little whimpers, all for him. He was lost in the darkness, the heat and sweet scents of her, all for him. And when he heard her call his name, in a half-gasp, half-scream, as she gave herself to him he thought he had never been happier.

She was still gasping for air as he returned to her side.

“Your body flushes when you come for me,” he told her. “And your taste is sweeter. It’s all so beautiful.”

“You must know, I’ve never had the feelings you give me,” she answered him beginning to regain her breath. “May . . . may . . . may I touch you?” she asked shyly.

“What?”

“I want to touch you, the way you touch me with your hands and your mouth.”

“Uh . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”

She sat up and pushed him onto his back. “I want to touch you. Lie back and lie still.”

“I’m not sure this is proper.”

He wasn’t sure.

“You give me such pleasure. I want to kiss you . . . like you kiss me.” And he felt her lips on his chest. He closed his eyes and clenched his hands by his sides, allowing her to work her way down, his stomach tightening as she placed little kisses down his body. Then she hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” he’d opened his eyes. She was just sitting and staring.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she told him. “I’m not quite sure what to do.”

“Just put your hand on me and hold me,” he instructed her and gritted his teeth against the wave of pleasure that swept over him. He wouldn’t last long under this kind of sweet torture.

“It’s all right if I kiss you . . . there?” she asked.

He barely managed to croak out, “Yes,” and groaned when he felt her lips on him, soft, gentle, then gradually, as if she was already learning what he liked, he felt her as she wrapped her mouth around him and pulled him in.

“Good God, Wife,” he pulled her off. “It’s too much. I won’t have anything left if you . . . “ he couldn’t finish. “Here,” and he pulled her on top of himself and lifted her, settling her down, slipping into her wet heat, filling her.

“Oh, my. This feels good, really good,” she told him.

Belle drew up her knees and realized, sitting on him as she was, that this gave her leverage. She began to rock up and down, controlling the speed, even the depth of his entrance, her body now slick as she labored above him. His hands gripped her waist for a while, but then he dropped a hand between them, stimulating her core and Belle was surprised that the wonderful feelings she’d gained from his kisses were building again. With him inside of her, the burgeoning feelings were nearly overwhelming.

“Give yourself to me, Wife,” he pleaded. “Let go,” and she began a hard series of pulses, her entire body shivering and shaking as she found unexpected pleasure – the very ground shaking beneath them. And then she felt his release, hard spurts as if his own life force was spewing into her.

She collapsed on his chest and fell asleep.

Rumple couldn’t, he just couldn’t bring himself to abandon her yet again after a night of passion. But, he couldn’t help it, he was concerned about the ground quaking he’d felt during their climax – she might have thought that was his doing, but he knew better.

Rumple got up, quickly dressed and, outside found that there had been a little explosion that had blown out half of the wall of Jefferson’s workshop. Others in the household had risen and water had been poured on the ensuing fire. His friend was striped with blackened dust but was still intact.

“Working on that damn timing switch,” he explained to Rumple. “A slight miscalculation. I just can’t get it right. Sorry, if I interrupted anything.”

Rumple had been able to return before Belle woke up and missed him. He snuggled down with her, enjoying how well they fit together.

**A Quiet Morning**

First light filtered into the room.

“I was afraid you would be gone,” she told him, pressing little kisses against his chest.

“Like I did before,” he ruefully admitted. “I’m sorry, but I . . . I really did have some urgent business. I do again this morning. I’ll be gone about two weeks if all goes well. But this time I wasn’t going to leave without speaking, without telling you how much I enjoyed you, what you did.”

“I enjoyed it too, very much.” She paused, a concern furrowing her brow. “We . . . we will make a baby doing this, won’t we?”

“If we keep at it, that is the likely outcome,” he confirmed.

“My father would like that.”

He hesitated, “And you . . . would you like that?”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I would. I would very much. And you?”

“I like babies,” he told her. _Even though this wouldn’t be a good time – he would very much like a baby with his Belle._

**Information**

Their marriage remained . . .  complicated.  This time, with this absence, she did not get letters. When she brought the concern up with Jefferson he let her know that Rumple was “out of the country.”

Knowing that her husband appreciated her insights and wanted information as to what her society acquaintances – and their husbands – were up to, she continued to listen carefully and talk less at the gatherings she attended. Killian was often a topic of conversation and Ella and Gwen were both fonts of gossip about the man; however, much of what they had to share was useless, more related to the man’s sexual escapades than anything truly noteworthy.

Belle did learn a great deal about Killian’s wife. She was generally seen as _persona non grata_ in the circles in which Belle was moving. Despite being a Duchess, Milah was seen as being vulgar, even low class, among the other aristocracy. And while there were those that tolerated her because of her social standing, most found reasons not to invite the Duchess to their gatherings. From what Belle could learn, the Duchess had her own social group, a collection of women from various social levels although all quite wealthy. Many had known criminal associations and there was the tantalizing bit of gossip that Milah oft frequented The Tower -- especially on late evenings when her husband was unavailable.

It was yet another tea time at Gwen’s. Usually Belle was overcome by boredom at these outings, but this one was livened up with the presence of Lady Emma, Belle’s daughter-in-law, and her mother, Lady Mary Margaret Nolen.

Belle watched Emma. She was a stunning blonde beauty and obviously as bored as Belle was.

Gwen, with some measure of boasting, shared that her husband had been given a most important job under Archduke Killian. He would be captaining a ship _The Excaliber,_ that was to go up against the _Dark Wind._

“It had better be wicked fast,” Mary Margaret remarked. “No one’s been able to outrun the _Dark Wind.”_

“Arthur told me _The Excaliber_ is faster than any other ship in the Emperor’s fleet. And it’s been equipped with twice the number of cannons,” Gwen shared.

“Wouldn’t all those cannons make it slower?” Belle asked. “I mean, you actually only need one cannon and one well-placed shot to take down an airship.”

Gwen shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I just know Arthur’s very proud of the ship and just knows he’ll be the one to take down the Dark One.”

“Well, good luck to him there,” Mary Margaret told her. “The Dark One seems to have second sight. He knows what ships are where and what ships are carrying the most valuable cargo. I suspect that if someone is gunning for him, he’ll lay low for a while.”

“Or just take them out,” Emma spoke for the first time. “My husband thinks that this Dark One has his own agenda and it’s not just about money.”

“Is Bae part of the Special Task Force?” Ella asked.

“Yes and no. He’s been asked to analyze the movements of the Dark One and he’s beginning to see some patterns.”

“And it’s not about money?” Belle asked.

“Bae doesn’t think so. He thinks the Dark One has some purpose in his actions and is poised to do something big – but he’s just not sure what,” Emma explained.

_Now that bit of information was interesting, even more so because of who it was coming from._

“Well, I can’t say I know much about this sky pirate, although he did once intercept a vessel I was riding in,” Belle shared.

She abruptly became aware that all eyes were on her.

“Oh, my word! You met him?”

Every woman in the place was now focused on her.

“What’s he really like?”

“Did he speak with you?

Belle began the story, “I was in one of my husband’s merchant ships, a sturdy little cargo ship. The ship was attacked and . . . the Dark One came on board.”

“Is he as handsome as they say he is?” Gwen asked.

“I couldn’t say. He’s not especially tall, and his face was covered.”

“Oh,” the women were all disappointed.

“I did feel that he was very, very dangerous,” Belle shared. “And counted myself fortunate that we got away unscathed except for having the ship’s cargo ransacked.”

“I would have fainted,” Ella shared. “You are the bravest thing.”

“I didn’t feel very brave at the time,” she confessed. “I was terrified that he would hurt me or the crew or even scuttle the ship.”

“The Dark One is not given to hurting others unless he has little choice,” Mary Margaret observed. “He steals cargo but doesn’t go after ships or their crew.”

“Well,” Gwen disagreed. “That used to be true, but lately, perhaps he’s more desperate. Arthur told me that the Dark One has been destroying the airships he boards.”

“I had not heard that,” Emma replied. “That is a change from how he usually operates.”

Belle went away from this tea feeling that, at last, there was a concerted effort to draw in the Dark One and put an end to his nefarious practices, including the theft of valuable merchandise and now, especially, the trafficking of Fairy Dust which was increasingly viewed as an imperial crisis. The shift to destroying vessels, rather than just commandeering cargo, was disconcerting; if this was true, the predations had increased in their impact.

Belle had had the odd thought that Killian might be trying to implicate her husband in some of the Dark One’s dealings as a way to get him out of the way permanently.

Of course, in her most honest moments, Belle realized, her husband could really be involved in some dark activities – she kept recalling Killian’s remarks and Cora’s spiteful words about his business dealings. He’d managed to explain his way out of a relationship with Gothel, but . . . well, he always had ready explanations for things. She knew she tended to trust others easily and she knew she very much wanted to trust her husband.

But sometimes it was difficult.

**The Assignation**

Gothel had reviewed the final arrangements. She wanted this deal to go down perfectly – who knows what future business it might send her way – not to mention that she was more than a little leery of making an enemy of Stiltskin should things go awry.

She’d been introduced to the man, Stiltskin’s mysterious client, recognizing him instantly despite his hooded disguise, and she secreted him away in one of her private upstairs rooms. She’d already arranged for champagne and some chocolate and strawberries to be waiting in the room. There were several vases of roses. The room was set up as a lover’s chamber, a trysting place.

Now she was pacing, waiting for the woman to make an appearance. Gothel knew, from what Rumple had shared, that she would be accompanied by the Dark One.

Now, this was a man that intrigued her. Powerful, ruthless, rich – everything that appealed to her. She’d never met him, but she had met enough men to know that they were all the same. Like all men, he had a weakness, probably several weaknesses. Sex was the most common way to gain a man’s trust and she was very comfortable with offering men sex. She would go with this first. He was acquainted with Rumple, so her first guess was that he was part of all the drug trafficking. And now, he was transporting a woman . . . well, she wondered if the Dark One had transported other women for other men.

The idea of having the infamous Dark One as an ally, certainly a business contact, appealed to her and she was prepared to make some effort to interest him, taking extra care with her dress and appearance, dark clothing set against pale skin – one of her best looks.

They came in through a back entrance – a tall woman wrapped head to toe in a dark green silken cloak and a man dressed completely in black.

The woman carried herself as if she were a queen. The man was cautious, but seemed calm and sure of himself, very sure of himself – a compact figure, swathed in a black cape, carrying several visible weapons. Power and confidence emanated from the man. Gothel was fascinated by him. She led the way for the two, up the back stairs and tapped on the door of the third-floor room.

“I’m sure you’ll be satisfied,” she said to the woman, stepping aside, allowing her to enter.

“Then you know more about this whole affair than I do,” the woman said snidely.

Gothel shut the door behind the woman and turned to the man. “Dark One,” she addressed the man deferentially. “May I get you a drink?”

He shook his head -- _no_.

“They’re likely to be awhile.” She gave him her most charming smile. “Perhaps something to eat  . . .  a place to sit while you wait?”

He didn’t reply immediately, seeming to look her over, evaluating her. “No,” he finally spoke in a low hushed tone.

Gothel reached out to touch the man. She couldn’t see anything of his features, his face entirely covered with a black mask, except his eyes which she thought in the dark light were likely brown.

“They’ll be fine,” she said with a nod toward the door. “No one gets on this floor tonight without my express permission. Perhaps I could arrange for a little entertainment for you. Tell me your preference – girls, boys, blondes, brunettes, or redheads? Do you like one at a time or, perhaps two? Top or . . .  bottom?”

The man didn’t move. “No.”

Gothel smiled. _The man was being difficult._ She would try another tack. “How much are you earning for this little assignation? I know Stiltskin’s involved and he certainly doesn’t do things by halves.”

“I’m well compensated.”

She decided to push harder – if the offer of sex wasn’t going to work, maybe money would.  “Listen, I’m trying to find out if I can afford your . . . services. I’d certainly be willing to work out something for cash or . . . in trade. Given your reputation,” she laid her hand on his chest, “I’d be quite willing to offer my personal services or those of any of my girls for a little of that drug you’re reputed to be distributing.”

The man pulled back and looked at her. “Flattered, but not interested,” he told her.

She wasn’t making any progress. “Then it would have to be money. How much do you charge for a pound bag of Fairy Dust?”

“More than you can afford to pay,” he told her. “If you’re going to stay here, I will be wanting you to be quiet.”

Gothel sighed. _Damn, he was a difficult customer._  “As you say then. I’ll pour some sherry and pull up a chair.”

He was implacable. He stood, stoic and unmoving. Gothel thought that she might have nodded off about five or so in the morning but when she jerked awake, momentarily confused, she saw that he hadn’t moved. The sun was coming up when the door opened, and the woman made her appearance. Gothel caught a glimpse of red hair before the woman tucked the stray hairs back under her hood.

“Well?” the Dark One asked her.

“It was, indeed, very satisfying. I think we can come to a mutually beneficial understanding,” the woman told him.

The Dark One gave her a slight bow and whispered, “Very good, your Greatness.” He nodded at Gothel and then led the woman back down the stairs

Gothel’s ears perked up. She had heard and seen enough. Her female guest had been no other than the Oznian Over-Witch Zelena.

_What the hell was the Oznian Over-Witch doing spending the night with his royal imperial highness, the Emperor?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle and Rumple’s relationship continues to deepen.  
> Belle provides Rumple valuable information


	10. Not Deserving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumple’s relationship continues to deepen.  
> Belle provides Rumple valuable information.

Belle had not realized when she had admitted to meeting the Dark One, that it would gain her so much attention. She wasn’t comfortable sharing the complete story – _how the man had kissed her and urged her to come with him._ The Dark One had certainly become the _cause célèbre_ in her social group.

Belle heard rumor after rumor about the man. The general belief was that he was responsible for the proliferation of Fairy Dust, but otherwise, for someone who was supposed to be a vicious pirate, he was not particularly destructive – well, at least not until recently. For most of his nefarious career, he would take merchandise _and the rumors were that the merchandise would show up among the most impoverished members of society,_ but he did not kill people or destroy the airships. He might damage them so that pursuit was not possible, but he allowed the ships and crew to survive to fly another day. But now, he was taking down ships and, this was most distressing, there had even been several deaths attributed to his actions.

He was becoming increasingly bold, increasingly daring, increasingly dangerous even threatening the Emperor’s flagship. Several other imperial ships were targeted and despite their heavy armory, they were taken down – one by a daring night attack.

There was now increasing muttering among the aristocracy that it was as if this Dark One had inside information as to what ship carried what and which ship was going where and when. But no one could prove anything.

 

“I’m hearing more and more about this Dark One,” she informed her husband.

He had shown up after being gone for more than two weeks. He sat at the head of the dining room table with Belle at his right hand. “The filthy, thieving pirate?” he asked blandly looking up from his meal.

“Exactly. It’s not just the drug trade, although I think that is his most serious infraction. He is becoming more audacious and attacking more and more ships.”

“What are you hearing?” he’d asked her neutrally, sipping some wine.

“That he’s become more desperate and is destroying ships, perhaps even killing some crew, or, at least, is responsible for their deaths when the ships fall.”

“That is . . . disturbing . . . and a change from how he’d been operating before.” Her husband agreed with her.

“Gwen has shared that her husband has some pivotal role in this whole Special Task Force.”

“Does he now?” Stiltskin said softly.

“He’s piloting the _Excaliber_ which is charged with taking down the _Dark Wind._ Gwen’s not sure exactly what Arthur’s doing; however, I think that is because she is more interested in keeping her own affairs clandestine.”

“So . . . she has strayed?” He took another sip of the wine.

“If she hasn’t, it’s merely a matter of time,” Belle told him. “I’m not sure, but I think it may be someone in Arthur’s own inner circle. Someone he trusts.”

“Yes, that is the way of these things.” Her husband smiled at her. “You’re doing very well,” he praised her. Then he looked at her. “Something is troubling you?”

Belle dropped her eyes. “Forgive me, but everywhere I turn, well, there are still all these rumors that . . . you . . . you are . . . that you have criminal dealings.”

He sat back in his chair and looked at her for a long moment before replying. “That may have been true . . . once upon a time,” he admitted. “But not now.”

“Of course not,” she accepted his denial quickly.

“I have many enemies,” he began. “I likely will always have many enemies. They will say anything to undermine my power, your faith in me -- that I’m a criminal, that I prefer the company of boys, that I’m a cardplaying fop who’d rather drink wine than hunt and engage in swordplay.”

“But you do nothing to counter that impression, that image of yourself,” she protested.

“Why should I?” he asked her. “The image I have, well, it helps me in business. Other men do not see me as a threat. And, Lady Wife, being a cripple, I assure you, I do not want to incur the wrath of other men. I’m not able to engage with them on a level playing field. Better I leave it to the courts of law than the fields of valor.”

A sudden thought struck her. “You are concerned that some of your enemies may strike at me to get at you.”

“Precisely. Which is why I take pains not to appear to be interested in you, although, and you know this well, I’m most interested in you. I would not forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Belle nodded. She had begun to make some gains in understanding her husband’s far-flung economic empire. She had discovered that he had many ships in the air, many on the water and quite a few landlines where supplies and merchandise made their way across parishes. She had learned that he dealt with the aristocracy but also many common tradespeople. His range of interests was staggering, from medications to animal and plant fibers to machinery to . . . well, it was likely that he had a hand in virtually every type of business in which money changed hands across the entire empire. The amount of money, the number of deals, that went through his fingers was breath-taking.

**Early Morning**

Belle was eating with Tiana, the lovely cook, the next morning, learning about her background. She’d lost her mother as a young child and Belle immediately bonded with her over this. Tiana had then lost her father when she was thirteen and had had to fend for herself. She’d been able to find work in a fine restaurant, starting in the bakery where, eventually, she’d risen from floor sweeper to pastry chef, perfecting her beignets. When the restaurant had closed, Tiana had not been able to find another position and had ended up on the street, destitute and desperate.

Tiana had encountered Master Stiltskin when she was desperate and begging for food. He’d given her half of his sandwich and she had critiqued it – a man in his position should be able to find better food. She had told him that the bread was too dry and lacked salt, the ham was too salty, and the greens were not fresh. He had given her some money and suggested she buy the ingredients to make a better sandwich – no doubt, he expected her to run off with the cash and he’d never see her again. But, she had returned and commandeered the little kitchen he had in the back of his shop. She was able to prepare a fine simple supper and he’d hired her to work in his kitchen.

“I would probably be working at Gothel’s Brothel . . . or dead . . . if I hadn’t met your husband. I know he has this fearsome reputation, but he’s been good to me.”

On an impulse, Belle asked, “Do you know how my husband and Jefferson met?”

Tiana blushed. “Well, just what I’ve heard -- that Master Jefferson was a brilliant professor at the university and was famous for his ideas, especially some of his inventions.” She sighed, “Apparently, there was a terrible accident with one of his inventions . . . well, it exploded and killed his wife.”

Belle was horrified. “Oh no. How awful.”

“Yes, just terrible. No one blamed Master Jefferson . . . except he did. He just . . . deteriorated, and started using Dust and . . . just went mad.” She hesitated. “He had lost custody of his little daughter when Master Stiltskin hunted him down and got him clean with the promise that Jefferson would work for him. Your husband helped him get his daughter back and he’s taken care of her, buys her everything she needs, has her attending the finest school. Jefferson credits your husband with saving both himself and his daughter.”

“I had no idea about any of this,” Belle admitted.

“He thinks very highly of your husband,” Tiana shared. “I suspect you know, Jefferson’s been courting me some and . . . well, he’s very charming and very convincing, but,” she shook her head. “He’s also impetuous and unpredictable and . . . well, I just don’t know.”

“I know my husband has great faith in him and, for me, well, he’s always been someone I could count on,” Belle told her.

She might have said more but there was a pounding on the front door.

Lumiere opened it and Belle could hear a woman ranting.

“I’ll see if she’s in,” he said in his most authoritative voice.

He shut the door and leisurely walked down to the little drawing-room where Belle was sharing breakfast with Tiana.

“Madame,” he began, speaking slowly. “So sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” he sighed. “But there is someone who wants to see you. Are you in for Cora Mills?” he asked.

“Of course. Please, Tiana, excuse me,” Belle pushed back from the table. Tiana hopped up and said she was finished anyway and stepped back to the kitchen. Lumiere returned to the door, opened it and then escorted Cora to the drawing room.

“What the hell happened to this room?” Cora demanded. “It’s all pale and milk toast.”

“Good morning, Cora,” she greeted her guest. “I’ve been doing a little re-decorating. Putting my own stamp on the place, you understand.” Belle guided her guest to the little velvet sofa. “Would you like some tea?”

“No. You know why I’m here,” Cora began.

Belle shook her head.

“Regina. My daughter. She ran away. I’ve had the police out looking. I’ve hired private detectives. They haven’t been able to find her.”

“I’m so sorry. Perhaps something stronger than tea?”

“Rumple used to keep some fine whiskey. I’ll have a glass of that,” Cora told her, and Belle rose to prepare the drink. “I think you know where she is.”

“Me?” Belle handed her the whiskey.

“I have every reason to believe she ran off with your stable boy.”

Belle sat down. “Daniel had given me his resignation some time ago – hoping to seek his fortune elsewhere. It was a loss, but young men . . . they welcome change. You think Regina went off with him?”

“Are you a dolt? That’s what I said.”

“Now, why would she do that?’ Belle asked.

“He seduced her and kidnapped her.”

Belle presented her shocked face. “Really? You think so?” She shook her head again. “I confess, I didn’t really know her, but she seemed like such a smart girl. I can’t imagine she would just throw everything over for a passing fancy. If she left with him . . . I’d have to think that perhaps she was . . .” Belle looked Cora in the eye, “running away from something.”

Cora flinched. “Well . . . uh . . . there had been some discussion of . . . uh . . . consideration of marriage to Lord Midas.”

“Midas! Isn’t he old enough to be Regina’s grandfather? Surely that wasn’t a serious discussion?” Belle took a sip of her tea.

“He’s an excellent catch. Regina’s not old enough to understand these kinds of decisions and the benefits that marriage to an older man can bring.”

Belle shrugged. “Well, what can I say? I’m married to an older man, but it was fully my choice. Perhaps . . . do you think . . . it might be that . . . Regina didn’t feel that she had any choice in the matter? That you were forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want?”

Cora blanched. “I don’t think so.”

“Hummmm,” Belle replied. She stood. “If I hear from Daniel . . . he may be in communication with his uncle who now tends the stables, I’ll make inquiries, of course. But . . . if Regina did run away with Daniel . . . I can’t imagine that Midas would ever consider her for a bride.”

“You were involved. I just know it,” Cora spit out. “You encouraged her to leave with that Daniel.”

“I’m sure you’d prefer to believe that it was someone else’s, anyone else’s, fault and responsibility that drove your daughter away. I believe we’re done here.”

“We’re not done.”

“But we are. If I hear anything about your daughter, I will certainly pass it on to you.” Belle paused, “Of course, what does that say about your relationship with your daughter? Should a neighbor she’s met a few times have a closer relationship with her than you, her own mother?” Belle rang for Lumiere who promptly appeared. “Princess Cora is ready to go,” she told him.

“But of course,” Lumiere stepped aside from the door. Cora downed the whiskey and, as much as she could, she gathered her dignity to huff out.

**Visitation**

It was the following Monday and Belle was at her usual visitation – the home of Lady Mary Margaret.

Forgotten was the topic of the Dark One -- the topic of conversation for the day was far more important. It concerned young Gwen Kingsword. She had been unusually excited and distracted during the past week. She looked better than she had in many weeks. Belle was curious as to what had impacted the young woman’s mood.

“Oh, I think it’s likely she’s consummated her affair,” whispered the pretty, but not so bright, Lady Shoecastle.

“What?” several women around the little tea table asked.

“Oh yes,” Lady Ashley continued. “My husband, you know he’s a lieutenant in the Imperial Guard, told me that his captain, Lord Longlance, is head over heels and was willing to even jeopardize his position for Gwen’s favors. Poor Arthur, he’s completely unaware. Of course,” she pouted, “this has meant that my Thomas is having to pick up on Longlance’s absences and he’s gone so much more, just when I’m really wanting him around the house.” Ashley placed her hand on her bulging stomach.

“Oh, you poor dear,” several of the women offered comfort.

“Thomas isn’t happy about this, you know. He’s working the hours of a captain but only getting paid as a lieutenant. He’d look around for another position except he keeps hoping that something will open up.”

As Belle was leaving, Mary Margaret spoke confidentially to her. “The Shoecastle family is on the verge of bankruptcy. They have had to let go almost all of their household staff,” she whispered. “They are positively _desperate_ for money.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Belle whispered back.

“Oh, don’t be. The Shoecastles have been sell-outs for the longest time. Whoever was willing to pay them the most money, but recently they bankrolled a couple of sinking ships and now they haven’t any capital to get back on top,” Mary Margaret explained.

Belle had found her husband already at home when she returned late that afternoon from her visitation. She had greeted him with a shy kiss on his cheek. He didn’t immediately release her but took it upon himself to kiss her brushing her mouth and whispering into her ear, “Your bedroom – your bed – tonight.”

 

Soon enough, Belle was braiding her hair when she shared what she had learned that afternoon with her husband. He was sitting up in her bed, patiently waiting and watching his wife as she completed her nighttime routine. He’d had been listening intently.

“And Lady Ashley is pregnant?” he wanted confirmation.

“She keeps complaining that her clothes are too tight and she is exhausted – so, yes, even though there hasn’t been an official announcement, we all think she’s pregnant.”

“And Thomas is dissatisfied with his position and looking for something that offers a more lucrative future,” he said to himself.

“So, Mary Margaret told me.” Belle looked up at her husband who seemed lost in thought. “You know,” she said to him. “It occurs to me that you are awfully interested in my little bits and pieces of gossip.”

“I am, my dear. I have learned more about the affairs of my neighbors, my friends, and even my enemies since I have a wife circulating in society. I had no idea how valuable you would prove. If I had known, I would have proposed when you were fifteen.”

“Fifteen!” Belle gasped. “That’s just barely legal, even out in the hinterlands. And we would have refused you that year. We’d had a good harvest,” Belle told him. “You have some dark plans, don’t you?”

“I do, my dear, although perhaps not so dark.” He looked at her sitting in her silken chemise, her blue eyes luminous in the candlelight of the room. “But I’m not sure how much I will be able to accomplish.”

“This isn’t just to gain a title, is it?” she asked him.

He hesitated, “No, it isn’t. A title is a secondary concern.”

“Then what?” she asked. “Is it . . . the power? . . . the money?”

He smiled at her. “I want . . . opportunity – not just for myself but for everyone. I want positions and advancements to be based on merit not on some accident of birth. If I have power, the right kind of power, I can make some headway here.” He put his long fingers together, tenting them as he considered his response. “There are a number of men in my way at the moment, men who do not have the best interests of the Empire in their hearts.”

Belle sat up and looked back at her husband. “So, big social changes? This sounds like a dangerous game.”

“If you’re worried about yourself, I’ve already made careful arrangements so that should anything happen to me, you could return to your father’s home. You, your father, your people, would all be provided for.”

“I’m more worried about what could happen to you,” she told him, alarm showing in her eyes. She had walked over to the bed and slipped in beside him.

“Really?” he seemed genuinely surprised. “I did not realize that there were actual feelings between us, Madame, other than a certain carnal attraction.”

She swallowed, “I have . . . I have come to enjoy your company. You are wonderful to converse with. I’ve learned so much about . . . oh, so many things.”

His eyes flicked down her form. “So, your time with me has not been all about duty?” he asked quietly.,

She felt herself growing hot. “I . . . I have enjoyed the pleasures of the marriage bed. You must know that.” She had dropped her eyes and wasn’t prepared when she felt his hand on her chin, lifting her face to his.

“I do, and I trust you know I have enjoyed those pleasures, too.”

Belle could see that his eyes had darkened, and she shivered as he dropped his hand to her arm. He pulled her to him and gently kissed her.

Belle gave herself up to his kisses, his touches, knowing he would be able to entice her body toward the peaks of pleasure, intense, soul-searing pleasure. He had pushed her back onto the bed and pulled her hands away from her body so that she could not hold on to him. He’d directed her to wrap her legs around his hips. All the while, he would kiss her and tell her how perfect she was, how very desirable, hard driving into her, taking, then giving them both sweet, spiraling satisfaction.

He’d pulled her own response from her twice before allowing himself loose himself within her. He nearly collapsed onto to her, barely holding himself up.

“I don’t want to crush you,” he gasped out. He’d released her hands and she had now wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t leave me,” she begged him. “I feel safe with you.”

He dropped his head to her shoulder. “I don’t deserve you,” he muttered. He kissed her and rolled off, taking her with him, so that now she was lying on her side.

“I truly don’t deserve you. You are so generous in so many ways.” He touched her face. “I feel . . . I feel safe with you,” he confessed.

She knew he was telling her that he trusted her not to betray him like so many other women had, like so many other women betrayed their husbands.

He spoke quietly. “I wish . . . I wish I could share with you -- so many dark secrets, so many things.” He looked as sad as she had ever seen anyone. “You don’t deserve me. You should be with someone who is like yourself, able to stand in the full light of the sun.”

“I’m satisfied with you,” she hushed him.

He closed his eyes. He started to speak but stopped, instead simply kissing her gently on the lips.

 

This time her husband had been gone for nearly a week. Along with the daily missives to Jefferson that dealt with business, Stiltskin was now including personal notes to her.

She learned quickly to take these notes to the bedroom for reading – they were not safe for her to read in any company as they would leave her blushing or even squirming. He would regale his wife with his thoughts and dreams about her body, what he had remembered from their last encounter and what he was thinking of doing to her when next they were together – where he would touch her, where he would kiss her, where he would . . . Belle had to fold the note and take a deep breath before continuing it.

He had begun to teach her, eager learner that she was, things that she could do for him, to him. He had, at times, had her on her back, on his back, on their sides, even kneeling on the bed. He’d joined her in the bathing chamber and they’d had to mop up the floors afterward. She’d learned that his eyes would soften before he would initiate an encounter. She’d learned that he was always surprised when she would suggest a liaison; the man always seemed surprised to find that she desired him. She’d had an early realization that giving him attention would give her power over him, over this very powerful, self-contained man. He would often beg her to continue, letting her know that she was doing well, very well.

She liked that. She found she especially enjoyed sitting astride him, controlling the pacing, taking her own pleasure from him. She felt like she was riding a tiger . . . or a dragon. She could feel his powerful muscles underneath her and again sensed that she was in a position of some control – she could guide her own movements, fast and hard or slow and leisurely. He would groan, close his eyes, and beg her to continue. There was some satisfaction in having this enigmatic man at her mercy. Once when she had teased him beyond his control, he had sworn at her and suddenly had sat up and rolled her over so that he could finish, driving into her, her body exploding from the intensity of the coupling.

He would tell her in his notes how much he enjoyed her trembling and responsiveness, how he particularly relished the feeling of her tight walls milking his seed.

She was happy in her marriage, she realized, despite her nagging doubts. Her husband was a complex man. He could be difficult, even distant and was often outright foppish in his appearance and actions. She frequently heard how vicious he was in his business practices, that he was merciless and demanding of those who made deals with him. But she had not seen this side of him and had begun to wonder if these comments came from those who had made ill-considered arrangements and now regretted being called to task.

**An Afternoon Affair**

It was mid-afternoon and her husband had joined her, no doubt neglecting his business, taking her dancing at a small affair hosted by Lord and Lady Shoecastle. Things seemed to be looking up for the heretofore nearly destitute couple. Ashley was now clearly showing her pregnancy and seemed quite happy.

Belle had glanced around the estate. It was a bit shabby as if the couple had shut off rooms that weren’t absolutely necessary for everyday living and had let certain aspects of grounds-keeping go. There were some servants that had evidently been hired for the evening, but the food was excellent, the decorations tasteful and the orchestra wonderful.

“Things may be looking up for the Shoecastles,” Mary Margaret had told Belle. They had been dancing with their spouses but now, as usual, both men had disappeared.

“Yes, I had the same thought,” Belle replied.

“I heard that her husband got some kind of windfall,” Mary Margaret whispered. “And with the fallout from the whole Kingsword-Longlance fiasco, well, Thomas may very well be in line for a rapid promotion.”

_Things had exploded between Arthur Kingsword and his friend Longlance once Gwen’s affair had become public knowledge. Gwen had moved back with her own family, Longlance had left the country and Arthur had resigned his commission and retired to his country estate. The Lieutenant Shoecastle had been left in charge of the Guard unit and it was generally assumed that he would soon be promoted to the Captaincy._

“All the way from lieutenant to the High Captaincy, I’ve heard,” shared Belle. “Most fortuitous for the Shoecastles.”

“And unexpected,” agreed Mary Margaret who paused and then added, “Well, perhaps not so unexpected.”

“Why not?” Belle was puzzled.

“Well, Arthur was a staunch supporter of Archduke Killian, friends from their school days, you know. Nothing was done without Arthur clearing it with Killian and, of course, whatever Killian wanted done . . . or left alone for that matter, well, he could depend on Arthur to see it through.” Mary Margaret took a deep breath. “With Arthur out of the way, Shoecastle will be ripe for the picking – and the highest bidder.” She smiled at Belle. “Your husband couldn’t have come out better with this changing of the guard if he had planned it and pushed it along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple makes a startling admission.  
> Belle makes a shattering discovery.


	11. A Dangerous Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple makes a startling admission.  
> Belle makes a horrible discovery.

**The Coach Ride Home**

“I had a wonderful evening,” Belle began.

Her husband had insisted that they leave early. They were riding in his sleek black carriage, the same one that they had ridden in after their marriage, on their way back to Brookstry.

He was watching her in the darkness of the coach, considering pulling her over into his lap, turning her so that she would face away from him, her back to his stomach, pulling up her dress and rending the little lacy panties he knew was likely wearing. It wouldn’t take him long to get her ready and he could bend her forward and have his way with her. He thought that in this position he could likely have her screaming her pleasure before she would go limp in his arms.

But instead, he just sat across from her, examining her, considering carefully this remarkable woman who had come into his life. She was not some lightskirt here for his entertainment. She was his wife and she deserved respect and gentleness, not a hot tumble in the darkness of his carriage. So instead of pouncing on her, he was admiring the translucent quality of her skin, her sweet expression, the dulcet quality of her voice. It was easy to admire her. He reminded himself of her bravery and her brilliance. It was very easy to admire her.

“Sir? Sir?”

He suddenly realized that she was addressing him.

“I apologize if I am chattering,” she told him.

He shook his head. “No, no, it’s not you. I . . . uh . . . I was just looking at you and thinking how extraordinarily fortunate I have been. I was adrift in my own self-congratulatory thoughts and I . . . I was not listening. I apologize. Pray, continue,” he said.

“The Shoecastles seem to be doing well,” she repeated herself.

“They are doing better than they were. Thomas has had a promotion to Killian’s second-in-command.”

“With the baby coming, the extra money will certainly help,” Belle agreed.

“Not to mention, Thomas is getting a hefty sum from me to report back on Killian’s activities,” he admitted.

Belle sat up. “So, you _are_ paying Thomas to spy for you?”

He nodded. “Better said, I’m paying him for his loyalty, which includes him reporting back to me on everything Killian might be up to.” He leaned forward, “My dear, of all the things in which I deal, information is the most valuable. Arthur, who’s been in the captaincy position before was totally loyal to Killian and I wasn’t able to persuade him to . . . share. Thomas, however, is more . . . pragmatic. His loyalty can be bought and, since I’ve assured him I will exceed any other offers that come his way, I think it can be kept.” Her husband smiled. “As a matter of interest, Thomas has already told me that Killian is also paying him, which I don’t mind, as long as Thomas is loyal to me first and foremost. I can use Thomas to funnel Killian information that I want him to know.”

“Can you trust Thomas?”

Rumple gave her a quiet, tight smile, “I’m not actually asking him to break any laws or challenge his conscience in any way, so yes, I think I can – to a point, anyway. Thomas knows that I can break him just as easily as I can raise him up. He’s smart enough to recognize that we’re in a mutually beneficial business relationship.”

Belle nodded. Her husband never quit making deals; she had accepted that about the man. “Did you have anything to do with Gwen’s affair coming out?”

He hesitated, “Let’s say that I just encouraged the natural course of events. A few well-chosen words in the right ears.”

Belle nodded. _She had been a pawn in this game – but then, she knew he had wanted her to collect information – of course, he was going to use that information for his own benefit._ “Tell me,” she began, “how do see our relationship – from a business standpoint?”

He licked his bottom lip. “I think it is the most profitable deal I have ever made, far exceeding any expectations that I had going in. It continues to produce results and, I hope, will continue to produce, providing me dividends for many years. But, Lady Wife,” he grew quiet for a moment, “I would also like to think that there may be more between us than just a business agreement . . . and . . . a certain carnal attraction.”

She didn’t answer right away, but finally shared, “I would like to think so, too”

He was pleased to hear her say so.

They rode in silence for a while.

Belle spoke up, “I believe I enjoy your company more than I was expecting to.”

He was sitting across from her and his eyes glinted reflecting the sliver of light from the half-moon that came through the carriage window.

“As I enjoy being with you. We are doing better than most couples,” he told her.

 

Rumple had begun to spend more time at home and his business partners would often end up coming to see him and stepping into his downstairs study – this was a different room from his upstairs sacrosanct very private study. Belle had re-decorated the room with greens and browns, and it was now called the Green Room by staff. Belle paid only minimal attention to the many different visitors her husband had – she did see Thomas Shoecastle or, more typically one of the clerks from his office regularly. Archduke Killian, Lord Nolan, and even the grumpy airship Captain Grumwald also came by frequently. And those were just the men she knew. There were so many others, some well-dressed, some obviously tradesmen and a few that were wretchedly attired and in need a bath and a meal.

It had been a very pleasant day ending with them sharing dinner together by candlelight in the Day Drawing Room -- the formerly dark red room was now one of Belle’s favorite places with its light, bright colors and view to the gardens. It was a few weeks before Lughnasadh, the first Harvest Festival, and Belle had decorated with roses and other fresh garden flowers. She looked out to see a thick fog coming off the river.

“River fog! This is so beautiful,” she had to tell her husband.

“I’d tell you that I’d arranged it all,” he said, “But I don’t think you’d believe me.”

She laughed, “No. I am aware that you have a number of remarkable talents, but weather control is not one of them.”

“But one I’d like to have. Heavy fog,” he groused, “This type of weather makes it difficult to continue to do business and business is what keeps this country, this city going.”

His eyes had softened and she was not surprised when he carefully shifted down, balancing between the edge of the sofa and his cane, so that he was able to come to a sitting position on the floor on a thick sheepskin rug. In the winter there would be a blazing fire going but at the moment the fireplace was stuffed with vases of flowers. Instead, one of Jefferson’s clever inventions, a ceiling fan that ran on the same gas that powered the lights, was on, keeping a slight breeze wafting through the room and cooling them off. Rumple patted the place next to himself and Belle slipped down so that she was sitting next to him, their backs up against the soft yellow velvet sofa.

There, in the pleasant room, he gently pulled her down to the plush rug in front of the fireplace. He slipped off the sleeves of her dress as he planted kisses down her neck. When his hand squeezed a breast, she inadvertently cried out.

He stopped, pulling back. “I’m sorry. I thought you enjoyed me doing that,” he immediately apologized.

She blushed, “I usually do, but I seem to be a little sore. I guess -- recovering from your previous attentions?” she speculated.

“Of course. I’ll be careful.”

So instead, he continued to plant kisses down her body, lingering on her stomach. She had closed her eyes and didn’t catch his pensive look as he ran his hand across her abdomen. He didn’t linger, his attention soon took him down between her legs. He settled in, her knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around her legs to come up and hold her on her hips.

She knew what was to follow and found she was holding her breath. Her husband was always incredibly gentle as he would lick and kiss and suckle his way around her most private parts. She could feel his lips on the tender flesh of her upper thighs and then his tongue would flick across her most sensitive feminine nub. He would then lick her, the flat of his tongue pressing against her rhythmically.

_She remembered the first time he’d done this, she had tried to pull away – the stimulation had been almost too much. Even now, knowing what was to come, she struggled to remain still. But he seemed to enjoy her thrashing and when she would lift her body to his mouth, she could swear she heard him growl as he took what she offered._

He was in no hurry tonight and would stop before she reached her peak. Belle heard herself begging him not to stop. She had threaded her fingers through his hair and clenched them, holding him to her.

“Please, please, my husband. Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” she pleaded with him.

He pulled back.

“Nooo,” she protested.

“Why don’t you get on top?” he suggested and shifted so that he was on his back. Eagerly she changed positions and lowered herself on to him. It always took a moment to adjust but she loved the heat and hardness of him inside of her.

He reached up to caress her arms, her breasts, dropping then to hold on to her waist.

“I think I like this position best of all. I get to see your face,” he told her.

“And I do all the work,” she grumbled but with a smile.

“Most of it,” he agreed as he began to push up against her.

Already sensitized from his earlier attentions, Belle broke against him, lurching forward as her body seized.

“Nice, always so beautiful,” she heard him mutter.

Belle took a moment to collect herself and began again, rocking back and forth. She had learned her husband’s body also and knew when he was about to come for her. She stopped right before he lost himself within her. When she sensed that he had calmed down, she began to rock up and down again, stopping one more time right before he yielded to her. She played this game with him for a while until he gritted his teeth.

“You are killing me, Wife,” he complained.

This next time, as she felt him approaching his climax, he sat up, cradling her to his body and rolled her over onto her back so that he could finish, driving, pounding hard into her. She began to spiral and screamed as her body convulsed and she saw stars.

The next thing she became aware of was lying in his arms. He had managed to reach up to pull down a soft lightweight woven sofa throw around them.

She barely heard him, a soft, unclear, muttered comment.

“I love you, Belle, my beautiful, brilliant Belle,” he told her.

She was stunned. She knew they had feelings for each other. She thought it likely that her feelings were deeper than his – but love? It wasn’t fashionable for women to be in love with their husbands – nor husbands to love their wives. She had kept her feelings to herself for fear of being in bad taste. To discover that he loved her . . . it was momentous.

He had pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms and one of his legs over her. He had dropped off to sleep. She didn’t stir, comfortable in the coolness of the room, even knowing they would wake up on the floor in a public room of the house _and likely scandalize whatever housemaid came in._

But at first light, it wasn’t a housemaid that woke them up.

Someone was pounding on the front door, demanding to see Stiltskin.

He stretched and sighed. “Lady Wife, you should make a hasty retreat, if I may suggest it,” he told her, helping to gather up sundry pieces of clothing from where they had been dropped the previous night. He struggled to pull himself up onto the sofa so that he could redress. He sat, putting on his shirt and tucking it in, adding his waistcoat, pants, and jacket. He looked decidedly disheveled even as he ran his fingers through his hair. Belle slipped her dress on and, holding her underclothing, she stealthily made her way upstairs. There she gave herself a quick wash, combed out her hair and slipped on fresh undergarments and her favorite little blue day dress. Feeling she was at last publicly presentable she made her way downstairs.

She could hear a raised voice coming from her husband’s downstairs study.

“I know you can help me out. Everyone knows so. I’d been working, supporting my family but then after I was injured, I was in bad pain and got hooked on that damned Dust. You can help me out. I know you can,” the man was screaming at her husband.

She heard her husband’s voice, too low for her to make out his response.

“We’re out on the street. You know that. My wife has left me, returning to her sister’s, taken our children.”

Again, her husband made an unintelligible response.

“But you’ve got to! I’ll die without it.”

Belle leaned closer into the door. She could just hear her husband’s reply.

“I don’t know why you think I can supply you with Dust. You need help, man.”

“I don’t want help! I want Dust! You just got a shipment. I know. I know the blasted toe-rag that made the delivery! Just let me have a little.”

Belle opened the door and found her husband cornered by a big man, a big man with one of the heavy bronze vases set around for flowers, a big man holding one of the heavy bronze vases over his head. She nearly screamed when he brought it down on her husband, driving the man to his knees. Only by holding his cane above his head had her husband avoided serious injury. As it was, the cane cracked. The enraged man lifted the vase again.

“Are you going to get me Dust?” the big man demanded.

Belle unhesitatingly pulled out her gun and fired a shot above the man’s head, the sound of the gun going off, deafening in the quiet morning.

“The next one goes in your head! Now, put that down!” she ordered in a clear, strong voice.

The man turned towards her. His eyes were wild and irrational, but he eventually seemed to focus on her gun and, slowly, defeated, he lowered the vase, dropping it to the floor.

“Lady,” the man appealed to her. “I need some help.”

“And we’ll get you that help,” she promised him. Lumiere had come in (the rest of the household staff was huddled in the adjoining hallway). “Get Jefferson,” she told him. “Now,” she turned her attention back to the big man. “Mr. . . . ?”

“Woodson,” the man answered.

“Mr. Woodson. I’m going to make arrangements for you to get some help. The best facility, the finest treatment staff. You’re going to be all right. We’ll work on getting you better, then getting another job and getting your family back.”

She was surprised when the big man started crying. “I just hurt so, so bad, so really bad. Thank you. Thank you. You’re the nicest woman I’ve ever met.”

Jefferson came running in. “Shall I send for the police?” he asked.

“No. Send for a physician. Someone who specializes in treatment for Dust addiction. You know someone?” she asked him.

“As it happens, I do. Whale is probably the best.”

“Make arrangements for Mr. Woodson to be sent to his facility, please. We’ll pay all expenses,” Belle told him and then turned to her husband who was still prone on the floor, holding the shards of his broken cane.

Belle knelt by him. “You all right, darling?” she asked him softly.

“Actually, I’m impressed . . . and rather terrified,” he answered honestly. “I thought I was a goner with Vase-boy here and then you came in shooting the place up. Would you have really put one through his head?”

“I would have. To protect you, I would have,” she told him. “Are you hurt? Can you get up?”

He shook his head. “Sore, bruised and . . . and I need a new cane.” He dug into his vest pocket for a key. “I have one in my private study, upstairs.”

Belle raised her eyebrows. “You mean the room you keep locked and allow no one in, not ever, never, for any reason?”

“Yes, that one. If you don’t mind, please?” he narrowed his eyes but handed her the key.

By this time, more of the household staff had filtered into the little drawing room. Joanna stepped forward. “I’ll stay with him, Miss. You go ahead and get that cane for the Master.”

“I’ll do that.” Belle took the key and slowly made her way upstairs, stopping on the first step to address Joanna. “Could you send Susie or Sally to the household apothecary for some Crown Thistle, perhaps a little White Willow bark? I’ll need some water heated up so that I can make Master Stiltskin some tea.”

“Uh . . . “ Joanna began. “We don’t have no household a-poth-ee-carry.”

Belle stopped, “Really? I’ll have to see to that.” _She was momentarily distracted by the lack of a household medicinal, but then assumed it was because they were living in the city and did not have to rely on their own resources for dealing with injury and illness._

She continued on upstairs and took a deep breath before opening the door of her husband’s private study. The room was dark and had the still, stale dusty smell found in airless rooms. She stepped inside and turned on the gas lights. She shut the door behind herself. Even with his permission, she still felt uncomfortable invading his private domain. She looked around – clearly Cora had never been in this room – not a hint of red anywhere. There was a bare wood floor without a single rug to cushion the foot. There was a thick black curtain that blocked any light from entering. There was a large heavy desk and black leather-cushioned chair. There were cabinets, many locked, and many bookcases all around the room, bookcases stacked with notebooks and papers. There was an extra cane in the corner of the room.

Belle walked over to look at some of the notebooks. In her husband’s careful script, one was labeled, “Pumpkin Shell Venture.” She peered into it – apparently, it was related to building quality, but cheap, housing. Another one was the “Old Shoe Initiative,” also about housing efforts. And yet another one was labeled, “Little Mary Proposals.” This one had to do with getting wool from sheep to market. There were many other notebooks, some neat, some with papers jutting out from the bound pages.

These were her husband’s business dealings. Some had clearly not been handled in weeks, perhaps months, judging by the layer of dust on them. Others were set in a stack on his desk. She sat in his cushioned chair behind his desk, delighted to find that the chair was both set on wheels so that it would roll and set on some kind of screw so that it would turn. On top of the stack were a couple of folders regarding his businesses in Avonlea: “Road Improvements,” “Worker Housing,” “Airpad Construction.”

She perused them and found them consisting of neat script detailing funding, suppliers and designating project managers. She set them back down on the desk exactly where she had found them. She opened the top drawer – writing implements. She opened the left-hand drawer – paper. She opened the right-hand drawer – odds and ends, including something that looked like a sturdy brown paper bag in which one would keep sugar or flour. Curious, wondering what sugar or flour would be doing in her husband’s office, she picked it up. It had been sealed shut, but one corner flap had come unfastened.

Unlike everything else in the office, this bag did not have a label. She pulled at the corner, gingerly getting it to come apart from the body of the bag. It contained a white powder. She stared at it a moment and carefully, she stuck her pinkie finger into the bag, drawing out a minuscule amount and bringing her finger to her mouth.

She froze.

_This was Dust – Fairy Dust._

She knew the smell and taste well from her contact with the powder – when she had been helping out Avonlea’s healer when it was used as a drug to ease pain and promote sleep. This was the drug that when used recreationally, produced addiction and all manner of inappropriate behaviors and was creating havoc in the capital city and surrounding communities. This was the drug Mr. Woodson was addicted to, what he had come to their house to demand from her husband.

This was the drug her husband had denied dealing.

And yet, here it was.

_Why did her husband have a couple of pounds of Fairy Dust in the drawer of his desk in his locked study?_

Belle wasn’t sure how long she just sat there, pondering the possibilities. She suddenly remembered that her husband was waiting for her, waiting for her to return with a cane for him. She replaced the bag in the drawer, shut all the drawers and stood, making sure the chair was as she had found it. She picked up the cane, turned off the lights, stepped out of the room and locked the door behind herself.

 

Before descending the stairs, she took a moment to regain her composure. Stiff-backed, she carried the cane down the stairs and handed it off to the man. She offered him her arm for him to right himself. Jefferson was standing by and nodded to Belle.

“We got the man, Mr. Woodson, off to the clinic. We’ll keep check on him,” Jefferson told Belle.

“Thank you.” She turned her attention back to her husband _who she now felt might very well be the drug dealer other people had told her he was – why else would he have a bag of the addictive drug in his study? Why else would an addict have shown up on his doorstep demanding a dose of the drug?_

Rumple noticed her demeanor. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I am. I . . . I guess all the excitement. I’m not used to shooting at people in my own home,” she told him. “My Lord Husband . . . “ she hesitated.

He waited.

“I . . . I have been wondering about something. I know this seems abrupt, but what happened this morning has got me thinking how important family is to me. I . . .” she hesitated, “I don’t know how much you really need me to stay at the moment, but I was . . . well, the last letter from my father . . . it seems that he wasn’t doing well . . . healthwise. I was thinking about making a visit.” She managed to make eye contact, biting her lower lip, hoping she looked winsome.

“Of course. I hadn’t realized anything was amiss,” he told her. “When did you want to leave?”

She tried to seem off-hand, interested, but not in a state of urgency. “Would this afternoon be too soon?”

He considered. “No, the fog will be burned off by then, so it will be safe to travel. There’s likely a ship heading over to Avonlea now that they have a landing pad. I’m sure I can find you a transport.”

“Good. Thank you. I’ll get a little breakfast, pack a few things and be ready right away.”

He watched her walk up the stairs.

_What the hell had just happened? He’d thought things were going very nicely between them. He thought they were building a relationship._

_He’d actually thought about telling her some of the dark businesses that he’d gotten himself into, nasty secrets that, if she knew, she would understand him better, understand why he was doing what he was doing._

_But now . . . now she seemed different._

_Ah hell, maybe she was just worried about her father._

There was a ship leaving out later that afternoon. She was packed and ready to go, waiting on the airpad. He’d come out to see her off. She wouldn’t allow herself to look at him. It was hard to reconcile the polished man standing across from her with the dark drug-dealing beast that she now suspected, now had evidence, that he truly was. The man standing next to her was a meticulously dressed debonair individual, with every hair in place and manicured nails. He didn’t look capable of squashing a fly. She did manage to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before taking the lift up to the ship.

He watched her go. The feeling that something was awry was palpable. He walked over to the now, mostly, repaired cottage, to join Jefferson, knowing his friend would be open to sharing a plain supper with him.

“I think I may have a problem,” Rumple told his oldest friend sitting down at his table.

“You should have told her what’s going on,” Jefferson said quietly. “She’s very smart. But you are playing a dangerous, convoluted game and if she gets the wrong information, she could easily get the wrong idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple gains more information regarding Killian’s activities.  
> Belle makes a critical decision.


	12. A Clear Next Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple gains more information regarding Killian’s activities.  
> Belle makes a critical decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. I confess, I was concerned when I was writing this story if I was painting Rumple too dark (the evidence is piling up against him) and if this would turn off readers; however, so many of you are proving to be solidly on #Team Rumple and are chastising Belle for her hasty decision to leave him without talking to the man first. We shall see how they sort things out.

**Rumple’s Downtown Office**

With his Lady Wife visiting Avonlea, Rumple had no cause to spend much time in Brookstry. He found himself more and more back in his gloomy downtown offices. Rumple realized he missed his wife and her quiet advice and gentle insights – it wasn’t just the sterling sex – it was her.

_When had he gotten dependent on her?_  

With Belle visiting her father, he was now spending most of his time by himself, suffering his own company, which had never been the best. He knew this because Jefferson would stop by now and again and remind him that he was bad company. Jefferson would also share that he was progressing with his own romance with the exquisite Tiana, but he was still having problems with the damn timer on The Infernal Device.

Afternoon, Rumple was sitting there quietly, mulling over Thomas’s latest report – with Arthur out of the picture, it was now Killian who was spending a lot of time on the _Excaliber_ , but just what he was doing on his ship was a mystery. Thomas shared that cargo would be taken off but there was no ready evidence that cargo was ever put on the ship.

He had begun to form his own suspicions. Actually, his ideas were more than just suspicions – they were overwhelming bits of coincidental information, an accruing picture of serious misdeed, everything pointing to the same thing, to something that he had suspected even before he’d gotten enmeshed in this whole dirty affair. There was a correlation between the exploits and whereabouts of the _Excaliber_ with the latest reported activities, the _destructive_ activities, of the Dark One _–_ as if someone was copying the actions of the _Dark Wind, but_ copying them in dangerous, damaging ways.

Belle had been gone a week when he got a note. He knew who it was from before he opened it, a heady, acrid perfume permeating the paper. He debated just throwing it in the trash but hesitated. _There was no information that was not useful._

The note had been hand delivered by a street urchin. He wrote a note and gave it to the child instructing the little public nuisance to go to Rene’s, the eatery next door, to get a meal. Rumple asked the child to return after he had eaten.

Once he was alone, he opened the note.

_“I must see you immediately.”_

It was signed, _“G.”_

He considered his response.

_“The Cave, eleven this evening. Ask for Gold.”_

He did not sign the note, knowing that she would know it was from him.

 

**The Cave**

The Cave was a dockside dive of a bar, smelling of beer and blood, urine and rank sweat. It served stale beer at ten copper imperials a pint. The place was run by a tall, slender woman of dubious reputation, who was probably worth five men in a fight.  Rumple, carefully hooded and heavily armed, greeted her and slid a hundred silver imperials over the bar to her.

“Yes, darling,” Cruella greeted him, puffing on her hand-rolled cigarette – _no telling what she was smoking, her pupils were pinpoints_. “Haven’t seen you in a while. I guess that fresh young wife of yours is keeping you busy.”

He didn’t respond to her remark, “The private room.”

She smiled at him, “Of course. You have your key?”

“I do. There’ll be another hundred in it for you afterward.”

“And for that, rest assured, if anyone asks, you were never here.”

“I’m expecting someone. They’ll ask for Gold,” he told the bartender before slipping off the stool and heading toward the privy.

Cruella nodded and she watched him as he maneuvered carefully through the throng of drunk and half-drunk bar patrons.

Rumple went down the corridor heading to the wash-closet. The place had probably never been cleaned and near-toxic fumes hung in the air. He had to hold his breath to keep from gagging. Stepping in water, or likely some solution of water and sewage and vomit, he was able to continue on to the door at the end of the hall. Using his key, he unlocked the door and then, stepping over a bucket and pushing aside a mop in the darkness, he stepped inside a closet and unlocked another door which was in the back of the closet. This door led to the small, private windowless room. Inside were two wooden chairs and a small, rickety table.

There were no gas lights and, hesitantly, _fearing a reaction with the sewage gases,_ he lit a single candle. He didn’t think the upcoming business warranted any more light. He sat down with his back to the wall, got out his loaded pistol and waited.

It was several minutes before he heard someone approaching. There was some fumbling and the door from the closet timidly opened.

Seeing him already sitting in the room, the woman swept in, her skirts swishing as she released them from holding them close to her body. Her sickly perfume followed her as she landed in the other rickety chair in the room. “My god. I thought I knew every disreputable location in this city. I knew about Cruella’s bar, but not this place.”

“I had it constructed for clandestine meetings. Why did you want to see me?” He wanted to conclude this business as soon as possible.

“The stench alone is incredible,” the woman rambled on.

“Why did you want to see me?” he repeated.

The woman sat down. “I have some valuable information, at least, I think it’s valuable.”

He waited.

“I will leave it to you to decide on how valuable the information is,” the woman told him sighing. “I trust you to deal fairly with me.”

That remark raised his interest level. He nodded, giving his unspoken agreement to the deal she’d offered him. _He’d be able to set the price._

She took a deep breath and, in a low voice, spilled her information, “Killian is sailing around the skies pretending to be the Dark One.”

He sat back. _Now, this was useful information and fit precisely with his own suspicions._ He didn’t ask how Gothel had come across the information. He assumed that her sources were as confidential as his own.

“You’re sure?” was all he asked.

“Very sure.” Gothel was in a talkative mood. “His wife was very drunk and had been . . .  indulging in Sand,” – _she named a very expensive blend of Dust and other intoxicants –_ “and we were . . . ‘relaxing’ together. She began to brag about how Killian was sailing around, disguised as the Dark One and committing atrocities that would be blamed on the Dark One.” Gothel leaned in. “She hinted that Killian had some big plan going, something . . .” Gothel hesitated. “I don’t know for sure, but somehow, in between the drug-addled mutterings and nonsense that Milah was spouting, I came away suspecting that Killian may have plans to move against the imperial family while in the guise of the Dark One.”

Rumple digested this. “Why are you sharing this information with me?” he finally asked.

“I’ve heard a rumor that the Emperor has made a proposal of marriage to the Oznian Over-witch and she is considering it. That would expand the Empire considerably.”

“It would,” he agreed, not sure where she was going with this.

“And I know that you had a role in promoting this relationship, which would put both the Emperor and the Witch in your debt.”

“In my experience, royals tend to have short memories,” Rumple said with a trace of bitterness.

“I would agree -- entirely. But, you know, Killian’s built up an army of workers that he uses to procure the nimbus poppy. He sends them across the border into Oz in the guise of military action designed to protect the Empire. Should this marriage take place, Killian could no longer pass off these drug procuring excursions into Oz as military actions that protect the Empire. He would simply be a trespasser and the major source of his income would dry up.”

Rumple sat up. “You’re saying that . . . ?!”

Gothel smiled at him. “The Archduke is the source of the Fairy Dust. What? You didn’t know?”

“I’ve known, but I’ve not been able to get any real evidence of what you’re telling me.” And he still didn’t have evidence, just the word of an unscrupulous, conniving woman, but, nonetheless, what Gothel had told him was exactly what he had suspected _had known_ for years.

“Everyone’s been trying to blame the Dark One for all the Fairy Dust, but, he’s just  . . . well to be truthful, I’m not sure exactly what the Dark One is,” Gothel chattered on.

Rumple was rapidly processing what Gothel was sharing with him. He wasn’t ready to completely trust her, but everything she was telling him made sense, everything was what he, himself, suspected to be true.

“So, why are you sharing this information with me?” he repeated his question.  

Gothel smiled at him. “Because I’d rather live in a world with Master Stiltskin in charge than one in which Archduke Killian was in power.” She locked eyes with him. “And for all that he’s a filthy, thieving pirate, I think I’d prefer to have the Dark One as an ally than any of Killian’s folks. I can’t trust Killian. He doesn’t keep his word.”

Rumple sat quietly and considered his response. “I’ll be making a deposit to your usual account. I think you’ll find that you’ve been well, very well compensated.”

Gothel smiled. “Thank you.” She stood. “You know, I really debated passing this information on, but, at some point, a person has to make a decision -- which side she’s going to be on. You can’t just sit on the fence and hope that everything will work out. This is a big gamble for me.” She looked down at him. “You’re a big gamble for me. But I have to admit, you’ve always come through for me.”

She walked over to the door and, with her back to him, she asked, “Can you . . . can you tell me . . .  how she’s doing?”

Rumple didn’t respond immediately. “She’s smart . . . pretty . . . nice.” Then, he added, “She shows a propensity for botany and I plan to exploit this when she finishes her studies.”

Gothel pulling her skirts close to her body. She turned to look at him one more time and he thought that there might be unshed tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Before stepping through the door, she sighed and spoke again, “You know, if I didn’t think it was impossible, you having the limp and being totally inept with swordplay . . . “

“What?” he asked when she didn’t finish.

She snorted. “I’d think that you, yourself, were the Dark One.” She smiled at him and stepped into the closet to pass into the hallway.

**Avonlea**  

It had been two weeks.

Belle found herself regularly waking up in the small hours of the morning, finding that she’d been weeping. She would reach for her husband for comfort. And then she would remember that her husband was why she was weeping.

She couldn’t trust him.

He’d lied to her – looked her in the eye and lied to her.

But she still missed the man. He had been nothing but kind and generous to her.

And he’d awakened certain . . . ah . . . appetites in her own body.

Oh, yes, she missed the man.

She would hug a pillow to herself, so missing, not just the pleasure, but the warmth, the sense of safety the man offered. She would lie on her side, vacillating between self-pity and anger, trying, trying to decide what to do until she fell asleep from exhaustion.

 

It was a pleasant early morning and Belle was walking around the burgeoning gardens near her father’s manor house. She couldn’t help but contrast how things looked now with how they had looked when she had left several months ago. There were multiple hay-covered vegetable beds bursting with all manner of beans and produce. The brick ways and the edgings around the beds had been repaired.

She went on to the stables and found a horse had already been saddled for her – the staff had recalled her habits quickly. Everyone had been exceptionally kind to her, knowing that it was through her that prosperity had returned to Avonlea. Those that had remained on the Avonlea estate were especially loyal.

But it had surprised her that there were so many changes. Not just the manor gardens, but the very countryside looked tidier.

Sam, the Master Gardener for the manor explained to her that since she had gotten married, Mr. Stiltskin had begun a series of improvements. He’d first had several men and women on the grounds, talking to people and, Sam assured her, listening to what people had had to say. His best guess was that all these people had reported back to Mr. Stikskin because soon after that, things started to change. He’d hired a number of the locals to build some irrigation channels since the drought had seriously impacted on their ability to grow crops. He’d also revitalized the Earldom’s old quarry mines.  They had fallen off when style had changed from stone to lumber. But now, there was again a thriving business operating in the quarries and there were jobs aplenty, so many that young men from the surrounding areas had come in to find work.

Belle knew her husband had manipulated several of his debtors into purchasing the stonework and somehow, it had caught on and was now the ‘latest thing.’ All new constructions in the Capital had stone somewhere in the building, even to the point of the entire structure being constructed of stone.

The man had managed to both create and then fill the market. 

His roads project was coming along splendidly. New roads were especially necessary because the quarry stone was too heavy to transport in the airships and had to be carted out in large wagons over the mountains.

As she rode around the village, she saw several new businesses that had sprung up in the months she’d been gone. There was a bakery that had begun serving lunch to the quarry workers, sending out a wagon loaded with sandwiches right as the men took their mid-day break. There was a new shop for textiles that sold roving, wool and woven fabrics and it supported a cottage industry of women who knitted the wool into snug, warm socks and tidy sweaters for the workers. Some of the women had told her that they had received orders from shops in the capital for their unique Avonlea lace shawls. Belle knew well that one of these competently knitted shawls with its intricate involved patterns could potentially provide enough ready cash to feed a family for the winter.

The school, an endeavor close to her own heart, had also seen several improvements. The shabby wooden walls had been replaced with a donation of pink granite stones. There were now desks for the students and there were books. Children, all children, were expected to attend from the ages of five to fourteen for, at least, four hours a day. At fourteen, the students would enter into apprenticeships or continue to work at their family concerns. A few, brighter students, would stay for an additional two hours of instruction. Mr. Stiltskin had instituted a scholarship program so that these promising students could go on to university.  He would pay for their schooling provided they agreed to return to the community for three years following their graduation.

A young physician had also moved into the area allowing the old healer to permanently retire. Doctor Hopper was a kind, well-liked young man who kept both regular office hours and made predictable rounds on the shut-ins. Belle had called upon him, bringing him some salmon some of the local boys had caught in the cold streams. She found she liked the good doctor and would spend an occasional evening with him sharing intellectual discourse and discussing the medicinal use of the many plants in the sector. He was exploring the option of training others in the village to deal with simple medical situations and Belle told him that she thought this was a good idea. She instructed the manor house kitchens to send him over vegetables and fish, sometimes even prepared meals, as she was concerned if he was able to prepare his own food and eat regularly with his busy schedule.

She was sharing tea with him one warm afternoon sitting in his little office. They had opened the windows and there was a delightful cross breeze cooling them off. They had been discussing the most interesting of the local plants -- the bright flower, also known as the nimbus poppy -- that grew wild along hillsides. It was the parent plant of the infamous Fairy Dust – the drug that Belle had become convinced that, despite his denials, her husband was selling to hapless desperate citizens.

“The only place that I’ve heard of the nimbus poppy growing, besides here in Avonlea, are in the borderlands between Lord Killian’s estate and the foothills of Oz. You know, there is a terrible problem with people in the city becoming addicted to its use,” Hopper told her.

Belle sucked in air. “Yes, I’m well aware of the problem. It’s a serious scourge as more and more people seem to be becoming addicted,” she told him.

“Is it ever. The market has been flooded by it recently. Someone has made a lot of money on the human misery this plant causes.”

Belle nodded in agreement. She recalled the old healer who had trained her telling her that the plant had resisted cultivation, dying when transplanted and refusing to grow from sown seeds. She did remember learning that the flowers grew readily on steep hillsides and were especially abundant near the old quarry mines.

She had a sudden suspicion, an ugly thought, and she pushed it down.

But it would not go away.

She talked with her father the next morning.  “The road to the quarry – it’s been re-opened?” she began.

“Oh, yes,” her father acknowledged. “It was closed, years ago we actually blew up the road, all the roads that led up there, because of the . . . oh,” he stopped. “I think all that happened when you were just a baby.”

“When what all happened?” she asked.

“Well, when the market fell off for our marble, we developed a problem with poachers and scavengers going up the roads to the hillsides to gather than damn poppy which they would end up selling as a drug. We couldn’t afford to police the area, so we decided to make it much harder to get up there and we blew up the roads. A few years ago, your husband – I don’t think you were aware of this, he initially attempted to buy right of way to the quarry, but I refused him because I was concerned about re-opening the access to the poppies. Things weren’t desperate at that time.”

Her father took a deep breath. “When things did begin falling apart, he made another offer, a very generous one, but I turned that down too. I didn’t want people to gain easy access to those poppies. It was one of my big concerns when he offered marriage -- was it was just to get to those flowers? Clearing out that road to the quarry was one of the first things he did. Of course, he’s managed to find us new markets for our stone . . . so maybe that really was his intent all along.”

_So, her husband had been determined to re-open the road to the quarries, the road that led to the hillside where the poppies grew. Had he just wanted to get to the quarry? Or was this yet another piece of evidence that her husband was indeed a criminal._

_Perhaps, perhaps he’d only married her to gain access to the poppy fields._

Her father continued talking, “Even though I was most uncomfortable with Stiltksin re-opening the roads up the quarry, in part because the stone hadn’t been selling and in part, because it gave poachers access to that damn poppy, I have to say that your man has certainly kept his word to us. Things are going better than I would have ever expected them to. The stones are moving steadily out again. There’s food, jobs, so many new things coming in.”

“Yes, Father,” Belle had to agree.

“He .  . .” her father was still hesitant. “He has proved to be a better man than I had thought he might be.”

“He’s a good husband, Father,” Belle told him. “He’s been gentle and considerate and . . .  very generous.”

“That’s good to hear,” her father took a sip of his own tea.  “Belle,” he began. “You know I’m most happy that you have come to see me . . .  but, I have to wonder. Did you have an argument with your husband?”

“What? Wh . . . why would . . . why would you ask that?” Belle stammered.

“Because anytime you were upset with anyone as a child, you wouldn’t stay to talk about it. You would run away to your room and read,” her father told her.

Belle bit her lip. “Maybe. I . . . I . . . “

Her father shook his head. “Belle, darling. Marriage is hard. Happy marriages are rare. The key – and I learned this from your wonderful mother – is communication. You _have_ to talk with each other.”

“But . . . what if it’s something that is bad, really bad?” Belle asked.

Her father was still shaking his head. “Belle, a piece of toast has two sides. One may have butter on it, even jam, but there is still another side.”

Belle nodded. _Maybe she should have talked things over with her husband. But there had been the addict . . . and then the drug . . . and before, there had been the rumors . . . and . . . now it seemed possible that he’d only married her to gain access to the poppy fields._

When she’d left Brookstry, she had been so sure of herself, but now . . . . not so sure.  Her husband had asked her to talk things over with him, that if she had any concerns about his character or about his dealings that she talk it over with him.

But she hadn’t talked it over with him. She’d just left.

And now she wasn’t sure she had done the right thing.

Belle and her father sat quietly for a long time. Belle was caught up in her thoughts.

It hurt to think about what she had to do. If he had an explanation, could she trust what he said? If she were right, she couldn’t stay with him. She could ask him to change, to get out of his criminal trade, but . . . well, she thought that would only lead to more lies on his part.

Oh, she didn’t know what to do.

Her father spoke suddenly. “You know I loved . . . love your mother dearly, but,” her father paused.

She waited.

“Since your marriage, the roads have been much improved and there’s even an airpad now.”

Belle listened. She wasn’t sure where her father was going with this.

“A couple of months ago, I was invited to Brick Station. You might know, it was in bad repair and your husband spent some time and money having it refurbished. They decided to have a little celebration and invited people from all around the area. I wasn’t going to go, but then thought about it and I showed up and I had a good time . . . a really good time.” He paused again. “Well, what happened, was, well, I met up with a very nice lady, a widow-lady. Since then, we’ve been corresponding regularly, and we’ve met for supper a few times at White Station.”

“Father, are you trying to tell me that you might be thinking of getting remarried?” Belle got right to the point. 

Her father very nearly blushed. He dropped eye contact and stammered, “We . . . uh . . . well . . .  uh, perhaps. The lady in question is untitled but then, so was your mother. But she is well thought of and hard-working.”

“Father, I trust you to make good decisions for yourself. You hardly need my approval.”

“Thank you. I’m not quite in my dotage.” He hesitated. “But there is a problem. She has told me that she wants to be sure that you are accepting of this marriage.”

“Of course, Father.”

“But she wants to talk about it with you.”

“Oh. So, where do I find her?” Belle asked, assuming the woman was one of the farmwives from the outlying areas.

Her father gave her a tight smile. “She’s the head housekeeper at Dark Castle.”

“Mrs. Potts! You and Mrs. Potts!” Belle was astonished. “Well, of course, I approve. She’s a wonderful person, Father.”

“So, could you head that way soon and let her know?” he asked plaintively.

_Well, this, at least, gave her a clear next step._

“I’ll go right away to Dark Castle. If I leave now, I’ll get there before Lughnasadh,” she told her father.

She knew that sooner or later, she was going to have to screw her courage up to the sticking point to return to Brookstry – to face her husband. She did need to confront him, to find out what he might tell her. But now this could wait until she’d had her conversation with Mrs. Potts, giving her blessing to the relationship. “Do you know when the next airship is due to come by, one that is going on to Dark Castle?” she managed to ask her father.

Her father smiled at her. “There’s one late tomorrow morning. The _Soumak_.”

“Lovely. I’ll go up and get my things together. I need to collect some of my herbal preparations. I want to stock the apothecary at Brookstry.”

“Thank you, my dear. It’s been made rather clear to me that it’s very helpful for a man to have a strong woman at his side, whether she be his mother, a sister, his wife, even his daughter. Since you’ve been gone, I’ve missed your counsel, but now . . . well, Mrs. Potts has taken your place. She is giving me gentle, very smart advice and I’ve realized how important that can be to a man.” Her father smiled at her. “You were very good at giving me such good advice, so I’m sure you’re doing the same for your husband. You’re very important to him, even if you don’t know it, even if he doesn’t know it.”

Belle gave her father a weak smile. _Oh, she knew what she needed to do._

_It was just a matter of working up the courage to do it._

_She had to talk to her husband about her concerns._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Belle is apprehended by “The Dark One”  
> Rumple learns of her fate.  
> Belle makes a desperate decision


	13. Apprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle is apprehended by “The Dark One”  
> Rumple learns of her fate.  
> Belle makes a desperate decision

Belle always loved riding in an airship, especially the freighter _Soumak_. Grumpy Captain Grumwald, gruff as he was, seemed to like her and allowed her to stand on the bridge. She’d pulled her hair up into a tight bun to keep it out of her eyes and her mouth. It was a glorious late summer day, the sky a bright blue, the clouds a combination of white cotton plumes and fluffy pillows. The ship was due to arrive at Dark Castle early evening. At the moment, it was carrying Avonlea vegetables and prime roving from their sheep and goats. Some would get dropped off at Dark Castle and the rest would go on to Hadensburg.

Belle conscience was as quiet as it had been in a while. She had been under debilitating stress, every thought wracked with grief and despair, every moment disturbed by doubt and confusion. She’d been so stressed that her monthly was late – that had happened once before when her father had first talked to her about saving Avonlea by marrying the mysterious Master Stiltskin. She knew well what stress could do to her body.

But, for this moment, she was feeling better. Belle had decided that before she would make any decision about her marriage that she would first screw up her courage and talk with her husband. After listening to his explanation, if she continued to have doubts, she would then have to decide if her marriage was worth fighting for or if she’d be better off cutting her losses and moving on and out.

She’d been out in the cool, fresh air, wearing undergarments, an overblouse, a thick sweater and a lightweight coat. She had also taken to foregoing a skirt, just wearing her thick travel trousers and sturdy boots for these trips – so much easier. She was enjoying the journey when a dark spot on the far horizon caught her eye.

“What is that?” she asked Grumpy Grumwald.

“What?” he asked, his eyes straining to catch whatever vision she had just had.

“There’s a dark spot over there. Is it another airship?”

“Your eyes are better than mine, Missy,” Grumwald told her. “I could give you a job as lookout.” He then hollered out, “Book it, boys! We’re being chased.”

“You think it’s a pirate ship and you’re going to try to outrun her?” she surmised.

“I am, Missy. I am. You spotted it early enough that we might just have a chance.”

“But we don’t have anything of great value on board,” Belle observed.

“We have you, missy. We have you,” Grumwald reminded her.

Belle understood – she was of value – if she were recognized, she could be held for ransom, although right now, she wasn’t sure if her husband thought highly enough of her to try to get her back. She clung to the railing on the bridge as the little airship struggled to put some distance between herself and the slowly encroaching dark ship. The _Soumak_ , while a sturdy ship, was not built for excessive speed and loaded down as she was, despite the optimism of her captain, the outcome of the chase was ultimately ensured.

It was a dark ship, one that looked somewhat like the _Dark Wind_ , but it was not the _Dark Wind_. The canopy was a different shape, although it would likely fool anyone who was not already familiar with the genuine article.

She watched as the ship latched onto the _Soumak_. A tall man encased in dark clothing stepped aboard. Behind him swarmed a dozen men who came on board and immediately began searching the ship, emptying out bins of produce and scattering the roving all over the deck. Some of them went down below and Belle assumed they were engaged in the same behavior there – they seemed to be searching for something.

“My Lady Stiltskin,” the man, clad in black, bowed low to her.

_So, the man knew who she was – no need to pretend to be Molly Lucas on this trip._

He extended his hand to her. “How fortuitous. I regret I will require your company aboard the _Dark Wind._ I have business with your husband and you can help me get the terms I desire.”

_So, this man was passing himself off as the Dark One, but Belle knew better. And she had been recognized – worse and worse. How was it that this dark captain knew her identity?_

She glanced back at Captain Grumwald and considered her options. If she refused, this “Dark One” could damage the _Soumak_ and would most likely force her to accompany him anyway – she had to take the option that offered the greatest chance of safety to Captain Grumwald and his crew.

She hesitated. “If I go willingly with you, will you allow the _Soumak_ to proceed unmolested?”

The “Dark One” shrugged. “I will.”

“Then I shall come with you. But, if you would permit, Sir Pirate, may I procure a few necessities from my cabin before I board your ship?” she asked sweetly, giving the man a curtsy.

The dark figure looked at her and then nodded, motioning for one of his men to go with her while she returned to her cabin. She picked up her hat and her nondescript box of apothecary items which she put into a common backpack.

“All right,” she turned with her escort. “I’m ready.” She spoke to Grumwald when she went by. “Tell my husband I’m so very sorry that I won’t be able to meet him at Dark Castle as we had planned.”

The Captain nodded. “If he dudn’t skin me alive first, I shall, Lady Stiltskin,” he promised.

 

**_The Soumak_ **

Immediately after the dark ship had departed, Captain Grumwald had changed course and headed, not to Dark Castle, but to Brookstry. He knew his duty and no matter how unpleasant, he would do it. Besides he liked the Lady Stiltskin. She had always been unfailingly kind and respectful. She was a better wife than the man Stiltskin might deserve and he, Leroy Grumwald, owed her to do whatever he could to release her from the clutches of that Dark One parody that had kidnapped her. Grumwald drove his ship as fast as possible to get to Brookstry as quickly as he could.

It took two days before Grumwald landed at Brookstry in the late afternoon. He soon discovered that Master Stiltskin was not at home, probably barricaded in his city offices as had been his practice before he had married. When Grumwald shared with Jefferson what had happened, Jefferson considered how best to send for him.

Sallie had been outside picking flowers for the drawing room, and she spoke up. “I ‘eard whut ‘appened to Mistress Belle. Sir,” she addressed Jefferson. “Let me take Demon, that black stallion. He’ll let me ride him an’ he can run faster than any other horse we got. The Master kin ride him back an’ I’ll find another way home.”

Jefferson considered. “You sure you can manage that devil horse?” he asked the young woman who quickly nodded.

She shrugged. “’E likes me,” she explained.

“Then go,” Jefferson directed her. He turned back to Grumwald. “He’ll probably want to go right to Safe Harbor, so wait for us, and . . . “ Jefferson hesitated, talking more to himself, “He’ll be wanting to take the Infernal Device. That’s what this is all about.” The man shook his head.

Before going to fetch the item, Jefferson went into the kitchen. He had to make an apology to a certain kitchen wench with a bewitching behind and a saucy attitude – he would not be available for supper.

Sallie had saddled and rode the fierce black stallion as fast as she could, passing vehicles and other horses on the road to town. She brought the horse up to a slower pace as they neared Master Stiltskin’s fancy downtown offices. She slid off the horse and ran into his shop.

“Master Stiltskin! Master Stiltskin!” she called out.

As calm as ever, she heard the master. “Sallie. Whatever is wrong?”

“Master Jefferson sent me t’ fetch you,” Sallie was trying to catch her breath. “Captain Grumwald showed up an’ said that Ms. Belle wuz on his ship an’ the Dark One came an’ took her.”

“The Dark One did what?”

“He done kidnapped ‘er,” Sallie repeated what she’d been told. “I came ‘ere on Demon, so you could take ‘im an’ get ‘ome fast.”

“Right,” he nodded. The man looked stunned.

“Go a’ead, sir. I’ll close things up ‘ere an’ I’ll take your carriage back home.” Sallie ushered her employer out the front door.

It was a brutal ride for Rumple – the Dark One parody had kidnapped his Belle. Rumple had no question what the man was going to ask for. Belle would probably not approve of him trading the item for her safety – she was that kind of person, but he had no hesitation. He would do what he had to do.

 

Jefferson and Grumwald were waiting for Rumple when he came galloping hard back to Brookstry.

“Let’s go,” Jefferson told Rumple as he slipped off the horse. “I’ve already had it put aboard. Grumwald will fill you in on the kidnapping.”

The men quickly took the ropes up to the _Soumak_ and, once on board and together, Grumwald re-told the story of the boarding, how the captain on the dark ship recognized Lady Belle and took her back to his ship.

“So, someone is impersonating the Dark One and has a black ship, a fast, black ship,” Jefferson observed.

“And they are doing a lot of damage to ships and crew in the guise of the Dark One,” Rumple agreed. “I’ve been thinking this was what was going on.” _From Grumwald’s description, he was pretty sure just who was pretending to be the Dark One and the news could not be worse for him and his lovely Lady Belle._

“Lady Belle told me to tell you that she was sorry that she wouldn’t be meeting up with you at Dark Castle like you’d planned. She seemed to think that it was important I tell you that,” Grumwald offered.

Jefferson looked up, “Do you think she was giving you a rendezvous point?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. The Dark Castle . . . uhmmm . . . that offers one option,” Rumple considered and turned back to Grumwald. “Which way do you think this _Dark Wind_ was going?”

“West, maybe southwest,” Grumwald told him.

“Away from Dark Castle – toward Swan’s Down.” Rumple named Killian’s home estate. “All right,” he closed his eyes to visualize the area. “It took you a good two days to get here, so . . . there’s no way we’ll be able to catch up with him, certainly not in the _Soumak_.”

“So, are we heading to Dark Castle?” Jefferson asked.

Rumple was in agony. He had to make the right choice. There would be a ransom demand, he was sure of it. The demand would probably be delivered to any number of locations. So, if he went to Dark Castle, as his wife had requested when it came in, he would be there to receive it.

He knew to a certainty what the kidnappers wanted – the device, The Infernal Device.

And he knew he would give it up to save his Belle. _She wouldn’t approve. She would tell him that her life wasn’t worth the lives the device could take. But it didn’t matter to him. He had to do everything he could to get her back, safe and sound._

“I feel I have to make the right choice, but it’s hard to know what to do.” He ran his fingers through his hair. _This was the downside of love, the pain, the potential for inestimable loss._

“Lady Stiltskin is a resourceful woman,” Jefferson spoke softly. “How many times have you seen that?”

He knew his friend was trying to offer comfort. “But you can’t just walk away from an airship,” Rumple complained. “Even if by some miracle, she somehow managed that, she’d still have to get herself back to Dark Castle . . . and she’d be on foot with no money.”

“Oh, she was able to go back to her cabin to get some things before they took her off. She came out carrying a small backpack,” Grumwald shared. “I think she probably took some valuables with her.”

Jefferson nodded ruefully, “Likely she has her gun and some money, even jewels, who knows what else. As I said, a resourceful woman. I’m game for whatever you think best, but, if you want my advice – I’d say stop off at Safe Harbor and then head for Dark Castle. You might also want to send out your people to look for her but if she’s traveling on foot, she’ll be wary of anyone she doesn’t recognize.”

Rumple looked at Grumwald, who nodded in agreement. “Safe Harbor, then, Dark Castle. Yeah, I’d agree with the crazy man here,” Grumpy told him. “It sounded to me that Lady Belle had a plan and was going to try to get back there.”

“Safe Harbor, then Dark Castle,” Rumple agreed grimly. “This is dark business, very dark, and I want to be prepared for it.”

 

**On Board “ _Dark Wind”_ Two Days Ago**

This Dark One was, at least, demonstrating good manners. He led the way and Belle was shown to the captain’s cabin, not _as she had feared_ to the ship’s brig. The cabin was far more luxurious than anything she’d seen on any other airship with a plush carpet on the floor and fine furniture attached to the walls.

“I assume that my health is ensured as long as I’m cooperative,” she spoke directly.

The dark figure nodded. “As long as your husband is cooperative,” he corrected her.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Then I’m not sure on how much longer I have left. My husband is kind enough when there is an audience, but . . . otherwise . . .” she smiled at the pirate. “Well, he ignores me when I’m not being used to ornament his arm.” _Perhaps, if she could convince the pirate that she wasn’t valuable enough to her husband to be used as a bargaining chip . . ._

“That’s a waste,” the man told her. “And . . . I don’t believe you. It’s well known that your husband is utterly besotted with you. He’d trade his net worth for your safety.”

_Well, so much for that ploy. She’d have to find another way._

She sat back in the cushioned chair, slipping out of her coat and sweater. She reached up and pulled down her hair, shaking her head and allowing her dark, lustrous hair to tumble around her shoulders. She smiled her most brilliant smile at the pirate. “Tell me, sir, am I to go hungry or will you be providing supper?”

The man was watching her, his mouth open. “Uhm . . . I’ll certainly order some supper in,” he said quickly.

“Wonderful.” She smiled again. “And will I be eating alone . . . or will I have the pleasure of a dining companion?”

“I’ll be happy to share a meal with you.”

“Lovely,” she told him. “I shall look forward to it.”

She watched the man carefully. There was something quite familiar about him. He was taller than her husband, almost as tall as Jefferson. His voice sounded familiar.

She knew she had heard it before.

_Now,_ _who would be pretending to be the Dark One? And who would want to use her as a leveraging pin against her husband?_

 

The “Dark One” made some stammered apologies and stepped out to attend to ship’s business. Immediately, Belle got up and explored the cabin. There was a small window – too small to slip through and, even if she had been able to use it as an exit, it opened up to empty sky. There was a desk and she quickly went through the mismatched stack of paperwork that had been set in the drawers. Accustomed to her husband’s careful record keeping, these records were a mess, but Belle could still decipher lists of ships, cargos, origins and destinations and journey times. A couple of ships had been starred and Belle assumed they were targets. She went back and spent some time looking out the little window. She could see the ground not so far below – _they were flying very low. Very low._

Belle made a hasty plan and opened her apothecary box, removing a modest amount of highly refined Fairy Dust, wrapping it in her handkerchief and slipping this inside the bosom of her dress.

It was dark outside, a full moon just rising to give some light when the pirate rejoined her. She was surprised when one of his men knocked on the door and brought in a meal. A table was quickly set and Belle sat down to see a handsome meal consisting of a well-prepared duck with small roasted potatoes and side dish of green beans with fresh bread. Belle was surprised at the elegance of the meal, but then, looking around the cabin, realized that she shouldn’t have been. This was someone used to the finest things and, even when play-acting, wasn’t about to give up any luxury.

“This is excellent,” she complimented the man.

He shrugged. “I’ve had better, much better, but one must make allowances when roughing it.”

“Sometimes, one just has to make do, I suppose,” she answered, laughing.

He brought over a bottle of red wine. “Join me?” he asked her.

“Oh, civilization. Please,” she answered and held out her hand for her own glass. She looked around the room and asked, “Aren’t we flying a bit low?” Then she added, “I had looked out the porthole earlier and I could make out roads and houses and such.”

“We’re very low, below the shipping lanes,” he answered.

“So, you’re not a ready target. Oh, how very clever,” she complimented him.

“Well, there are any number of ships that would like to take this ship down and capture me,” he admitted.

“You are rather notorious,” she confirmed. _Did he really think that she thought that he was the Dark One? That she admired him? That his daring-do titillated her? Belle girded herself -- it was important that he did think she had bought this charade, and that she was impressed by him._

“Would it be impertinent of me to inquire as to where you are taking me?” she asked, tilting her head and giving him a simpering smile.

“I have a rendezvous in . . . uh . . . seven days, so you’ll likely be my guest until I return you to your husband. I will be sending out ransom requests for your lovely self tomorrow and I expect to hear from your husband shortly.”

“Well, he was on his way to Dark Castle, so I would recommend you be sure you contact them,” she recommended.

“My lady, I shall do just that,” the pirate told her.

“May I ask, where are we?”

He got up and looked out the largest of the portholes. With his back turned to her, she quickly dropped the Fairy Dust into his glass, swizzling it around. She poured her own wine back into the bottle and then picked up the two wine glasses and carried them over to him.

“You can see a little now that the moon is coming up. We’re following the Great Road going to the West. This is farm country – a lot of little houses and barns and fields.”

“Oh,” she said, bored. “Now, I’ve drunk all my wine.” She held up her empty glass and turned back to the table. “You must catch up,” she directed as she poured herself a second glass. He gulped his down and allowed her to pour him more.

She sat back down. “Can you tell me where we’re going?” she asked. “Or is that a secret?”

“It’s a . . . it’s a secret,” he answered. “Is it hot in here?” he asked looking around.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed and unbuttoned the top tier of buttons on her overblouse, revealing the lace of her chemise. Things were tucked into her trousers which were held up by suspenders.

“I have to say, I approve of your wardrobe,” he told her. “I would not have thought that pants would be so flattering on the female form, but they’re actually . . . quite . . . enticing.

“Thank you. I’ve done enough flying on airships to find that they are the most practical garment. It’s so much colder and much, much windier aboard an airship. I’m used to walking around on deck rather than huddling in a cabin when I fly.” She droned on, watching her host as he wavered on his feet, finally sitting down, unsteady and confused.

“My lord host?” she began. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Bit . . . uh . . . sleepy.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s been a long day.” She watched as he slipped down, his head cradled in his arms on the table. “Here, let me rub your neck. My husband always finds this most soothing.” Belle began to gently massage the pirate’s neck and shoulders, feeling the muscles go slack under her fingers.

“Are you asleep?” she asked. “Sir, are you asleep?” When he didn’t answer, she lifted his mask revealing the man’s handsome face.

_She recognized him instantly -- the Archduke Killian. He was masquerading as the Dark One. Somehow this seemed to fit. By pretending to be the Dark One, Killian could blame his antics on the real Dark One, giving himself free reign._

_But, Belle did wonder, was it just the booty from piracy that attracted Killian or was Killian doing something else or perhaps planning on doing something else, something outrageous, something he could blame on the Dark One?_

She knew he would be out until the following morning, but Belle still moved swiftly. She gathered her few things, putting them into her pack. She opted to fasten the pack onto her front, leaving her hands free. She slipped on her sweater and heavier jacket and crept out the cabin.

It was very quiet on board deck and she couldn’t see anyone. _Hah, Grumwald ran a much tighter ship than the Archduke – she wouldn’t have gotten ten steps without encountering a sentry._ She was very grateful to the irascible captain of the _Soumak_ , grateful for her time on board the little ship _,_ learning all the parts and where-be’s of an airship. She went over to the transport lift, a device on a winch set in the middle of one side of the ship. She loosened the winch so that the chair ropes would quickly let out once the chair was dropped over the side of the ship.

_This was going to be dangerous._

Belle also took the transport rope ladder and wishing she had learned more about knot-tying she connected the rope ladder to the transport chair. She slipped into the chair and, wrapped in those ropes and carrying the coiled-up rope ladder, she went to one end of the ship.

This was going to be dangerous, a blind jump in the dark. She could get caught on trees or a high rooftop. Hell, she might not survive the jump itself if the transport chair dropped too abruptly and the lines snapped. She was hoping by jumping at one end of the ship she would go into an arc and swing back and forth, cushioning the fall. If she did survive and was then able to switch to the rope ladder, there was always the chance that it might not be long enough to reach ground or it might be too long and snag on a rooftop and snap. If she let go in the wrong place, she could end up dropping in water which would make for a difficult survival scenario. She could break a leg in the fall. She could land on her head. She could get dragged through tree branches or get slammed into the broad side of a barn.

But what choice did she have? Stay with Killian and be used as some type of bartering chip?

She jumped.

 

She wasn’t expecting the cold. Even with it being August, because it was night and up in the air, it was cold. She swung for a while back and forth, buffeted in the wind, but clearly, she had survived the first jump, her hands blistering as they kept a death grip on the twisting ropes of the chairlift. There was nearly a full moon and she could make out farms beneath her. She unbuckled herself and letting the rope ladder she’d fastened to the chairlift out slowly, she began to maneuver down the rungs, lowering herself nearer and nearer the ground, desperately trying to make out structures.

Yes, these were indeed farms. She could make out small houses and large barns.

And hayfields.

And big haystacks

They were passing over one.

If she timed it exactly right . . .

She let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT
> 
> NEXT: Belle struggles to get back to the Dark Castle (of course she survives – you would never forgive me if Rumple ended up finding her broken body in a hayfield).  
> Belle encounters the real Dark One  
> \-- and she shoots him.


	14. Disguises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle struggles to get back to the Dark Castle.  
> Belle encounters the real Dark One  
> \-- and she shoots him.

**Morning**

Belle lay quiet -- dizzy from exertion and the sapping exhilaration of risk-taking. She first determined that she wasn’t falling anymore. She was lying on her back and engulfed in the sweet, salty smell of mown hay.

She wiggled her toes, then her ankles, working her way up her body. Everything seemed to be working. She was able to sit up, finding herself in the center of a large hay mound. It offered some protection from the cold and she dug down deeper. curling up to sleep the night away.

She woke the next morning, stiff and cold. She usually loved the fresh mown hay smell as it reminded her of harvest season when food was plentiful, but now, engulfed in the odor, she nearly gagged. She brushed away the hay and, taking several deep breaths of the clear cool air to settle her stomach, she stood. She made her way out of the field and saw a man feeding a couple of pigs.

“Master Farmer, I believe I owe you a chore,” she called out to him. “I wandered off the road, got lost and spent the night in one of your haystacks.”

The man looked her over. “Darlin’ you could’ve taken shelter in th’ barn. We be havin’ hard times, but we kin still offer shelter t’ an honest traveler. I’m Master MacDonald.”

“Good to know. May I help you gather eggs, finish feeding your pigs, milk your cows?” she suggested several activities.

“Anythin’ you feel best at. Me wife’s doin’ poorly an’ me eldest jus’ broke ‘is arm.”

“You poor thing,” Belle exclaimed. “Let me help with the milking and I’ll gather the eggs.”

“Watch out fur th’ red hen,” the farmer called out to her. “She’s broody an’ will fly at your face if you try t’ get her eggs.”

Belle was joined by a bright-faced young boy with brown eyes and dark blond hair. “You pretty,” he told her.

“Well, thank you, kind sir. Your father needs these chores completed. Are you available to assist?”

“I kin help,” the child offered. “I’m Bobby.”

“All right then, Bobby. I’m Molly. Here, hold this basket and I’ll put the eggs in it. Can you manage? I wouldn’t want you to drop the basket and break the eggs.”

“I kin manage,” the child replied. “I’s a good helper even though I’m jus’ little.”

“I’m little too,” Belle told him.

“I’s got to be th’ big boy now that me brother’s dun broke ‘is arm,” the child told her. “It be hard sometimes.”

“Yes, I understand when things are hard. You just have to do the best job you can,” she shared.

She chatted with the child as she began to milk one of the two cows, asking about school -- he didn’t attend – the only school in the area had closed. She also learned that his father was worried that the older boy would be conscripted for military service even though he was just fourteen. Apparently, almost all the young men and many of the older boys had been lifted from the community to go and serve. _It sounded a lot like what had happened in Avonlea – and there the loss of their young men had led to economic collapse._

Belle had learned that it was not the Emperor who was conscripting these men. She considered – in this area, there was only one man with the authority to take this action.

The Archduke Killian.

She thought it likely that he had also been behind drafting Avonlea’s finest.

_So why did he need an army?_

Pondering what she had learned, she followed Bobby into the farm’s kitchen with the eggs and two pails of milk.

“Now, darling, where’s your momma?” she asked the child once they had gotten into the house.

“She in bed. She sick,” Bobby shared. He told Belle that his mother was up the stairs.

Belle went up to check on the woman. She was hot to the touch, obviously running a fever.

“It’s th’ ague,” the woman explained. “Took me down hard.”

“I might have something for you. It won’t cure you, but it will take the fever down and help with body ache. I’ll be back with it.”

Belle went back down to the kitchen and pulled out some fever bark from her pack. She prepared a tea for the woman, located some honey with little Bobby’s help, and brought it up to the grateful woman. She then went to check on the boy with the broken arm. She was relieved to find that it had been properly set, but the boy was still in a great deal of pain. She prepared a low dose of Dust for the child.

Belle returned to the kitchen to visit with the farmer who was fixing breakfast, frying up some of the eggs and putting out some boiled grains that Belle didn’t recognize.

“Bless you. We haven’t had a healer in th’ area fur ages. Missy, you more ‘n paid fur yer lodging, such as it was -- an’ some breakfast too,” the man told her dishing her out some food.

“Hard times in this area?” Belle asked sitting down to join the farmer and his youngest son.

“Since th’ old Duke died. Th’ young Duke don’t care much fur th’ land an’ he replaced all th’ magistrates with his cronies. They spend all their time in Hadensburg, so nothin’ gets resolved.”

Bobby spoke up, “Me da used t’ be th’ maj-is-state.”

His father ruffed the boy’s hair. “Thought I was doin’ a fine job, but . . . well, things are whut they are. I wus fortunate that I had me farm to fall back on. Some of th’ other magistrates . . . well, they wus not so fortunate.”

“I take it the Duke doesn’t check on his people,” Belle said.

“Well . . .” the farmer hedged.

“I’m not in his employ,” Belle assured the farmer. “And I have eyes to see.”

The farmer shook his head. “I’ll pack ye a bit of lunch – not much t’ offer, but I’m most grateful fur your help with th’ wife an’ son.”

“I’m leaving you some medicine for them. I’ll have some instructions because the medicine I’m leaving is potent strong.”

“I’ll be careful, ma’am. Seen some of them Fairy Dust addicts around an’ don’t want no part of that.”

“No, you don’t,” agreed Belle. She gave careful instructions to the farmer for the medications. Before setting off, she took a deep breath and using the farmer’s wife’s scissors, she cut her hair, leaving a dark, curly ruff around her face. She then made some tea with black walnut husks and used it to darken her hair and her skin. The farmer watched her but said nothing.

Belle bid him goodbye, wishing him luck.

Before she set out, the farmer took her aside. “Listen, Missy, I don’t know who ye are. Yer a right good farm hand, but ye talk an’ ye act like a lady. An’ now, with ye disguisin’ yerself, I’m suspicionin’ that ye might be runnin’ away from somethin’ or somebody. As part of me thanks to ye fur helpin’ me family, I won’t be pointin’ anyone after ye. Would it suit ye if I said ye went off toward th’ Capital?”

Belle was touched. “That would be good. You’re pretty much on mark and I won’t be forgetting your kindness. Thank you, sir.”

She set out, walking near, but not on, The Great Road with the goal of making her way back to her husband’s properties and the Dark Castle. With the farmer’s help, she had been able to map out a route for herself.

She was to make her way to a monastic hideaway, Brother John’s place. There, she was to drop the name of Farmer MacDonald. She should be able to get lodging for the night and perhaps a small meal. After John’s place, she was to go on to Dun Wallah, a Waystation and a good-sized town. Belle thought she just might be able to purchase a horse with her limited funds and be able to ride the rest of the way back to Dark Castle.

The first day was hot and she considered dropping her jacket. Instead, she wrapped it around her waist knowing she would likely need it if she had to spend another night outside. She felt like she was making good time, stopping only to eat the coarse bread and cold chicken Farmer MacDonald had packed for her. The light was fading when she came onto the well-kept lands that she suspected belonged to Brother John and walking along a gravel path, she came to a large stone dwelling where she found a man in ecclesiastical robes sweeping his front porch. She introduced herself as Molly Lucas, walking to Dark Castle to visit her sister. She let the man know that he’d been recommended to her by Farmer MacDonald.

“Och, then. Come on in, Missy,” said the kindly man. Belle realized that this was some sort of retreat, a place of quiet and order. “How is the good Magistrate?” Brother John asked her.

Belle shared news of the illness and injury afflicting MacDonald’s family.

John shook his head. “tis a pity. He’s a good man an’ did more fur th’ community ridin’ th’ circuit an’ hearing cases than he does working th’ farm.”

Belle nodded. This confirmed her impression that Master MacDonald was no farmer. But, she was continuing to hear more and more disconcerting information and it was leaving her was a greater distaste for the Archduke. It seemed the man did not care for the people under his care, expecting them to make efforts to meet his wants without making any efforts toward satisfying their needs.

She had to admit, that whatever his faults, her husband was cognizant and responsive to the needs of his people, including those of Avonlea, spending long hours seeing to their welfare, making sure they had the dignity of a well-paying job, were treated fairly and had hope for the future.

“I’ve not encountered many people on the road, less than I might have thought would be out and about,” she shared with John as she sat down to share a plain supper with the man.

“No, I guess you haven’t,” he agreed. “A lot of them have just disappeared – gone off to the Duke’s army, which means they were sent to hunt the poppy. So many of them start using and are no good for nothin’.”

“Wait, the Archduke is gathering all these men not to fight a war, but to harvest the bright flower, the Nimbus poppy?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed,” confirmed Brother John. “They’re officially protecting the border, but really he is sending them into Oz as little gathering parties. The Over-Witch isn’t taking kindly to this, so she has been sending out these flying monkeys, armed militia groups on micro-hovercrafts to swoop down on them.”

“Flying monkeys?”

Brother John laughed, “Sorry, yes, that’s what they’re called. They wear face masks to help protect them from the winds and to filter the smell from the poppies, which I hear is so intense it can put a person to sleep.” He grew sober. “Being so close to so many of these poppies rapidly addicts the Duke’s men and they come away from these excursions in thrall to the plant.”

Brother John shook his head. “Got to say, we didn’t understand it at the time, but good Earl Maurice of Avonlea certainly took the right action when he blew up the roads to his poppy fields.”

Belle nodded, “Yes, I guess he did.”

Belle learned from the good brother that the Dust problem was rampant in the Duke’s lands, much more than even in the city, certainly more than she’d seen in Dark Castle and in Avonlea.

She was able to sleep in a bed that night. It was hard and narrow, but a bed nonetheless and the thick walls of John’s mission house made it cool, certainly more pleasant than sleeping under a haystack. Belle woke up queasy the next morning, and it took her a moment to settle her stomach – stress, she thought. Just too much stress. She was able to down a plain breakfast of bread, butter, and honey with a cup of hot tea, and she was back on her way. Brother John also packed her a plain lunch of bread spread with some type of nut butter along with a couple of pieces of fresh fruit.

By afternoon, she began encountering more houses on the road and she realized she was approaching the small town of Dun Wallah, an Imperial Waystation. She still kept herself to the side of the road, staying out of the way of the increasing traffic. She looked around once she got into the town and followed some people on horses to the stables. This would suit her purposes better than the Waystation proper.

As she stepped inside the clean facility, she noticed a familiar face, someone she was not expecting to see.

“Daniel . . . or should I call you Johnny?” she asked the stalwart stablehand.

“Lady Stiltskin . . . or . . . whut . . . whut are ye doin’ here?” the young man was astonished to see her, staring at her disheveled appearance.

“It’s a bit of a story. Do you have a few minutes and someplace we can talk?”

“I do,” Daniel told her.

“How are you two doing?” Belle asked as she followed the young man up the stairs into a small apartment set above the stable.

“So good, Lady, so very good. We rode as fast as we could, wantin’ to get as far away as we could, as soon as possible. We were heading for Brick Station, like you had suggested, but ended up turnin’ west an’, passing through here, I found there was a good job openin’ at th’ stable. These rooms came with th’ job, so Gina an’ I talked it through an’ we decided to settle ‘ere fur a while.”

“And what is Gina doing with herself?” Belle asked. She looked around. The little apartment was tidy and clean with plain, functional furniture.

Daniel laughed. “Well, Gina wanted t’ help out with expenses, but she’s not had any trainin’ t’ do any real work, so it was tough at first.”

“So, what happened?”

“She was at th’ baker’s pickin’ us up some day-old bread. He works it all hisself an’ th’ place was crowded. Some rich bi . . . uh . . . lady came in t’ buy some fancy brioche bread. Gina began talkin’ with th’ woman an’ soon enough, she was buyin’ th’ fancy bread, some raisin breakfast bread an’ a couple of spiced twists. The baker was so impressed that he hired Gina t’ work th’ counter.”

“Wonderful,” Belle replied.

“We get any leftover bread, so that’s been a blessing’, along with her bit of pay. Anythin’ more than we kin eat, we donate t’ th’ local soup kitchen – it’s a fair busy place nowadays.”

“A lot of people out of work here?” Belle asked.

“Quite a few. Most of ‘em displaced. Some recoverin’ from Dust use. Some still usin’ th’ Dust,” Daniel told her. “Whut are ye doin’ here? What’s happened?”

Belle shared her recent history and let Daniel know that she was trying to make her way back to Dark Castle. She really needed a horse.

“Well, I kin do better than a horse. I can give you a horse an’ a wagon – th’ one you lent t’ me an’ Gina. I kin give you a couple of crops, maybe a bit of hay, t’ carry as if ye’re transporting ‘em t’ market. Should give some cover t’ help yer disguise.”

“Good idea. It’s certain by now that the Archduke has discovered my escape and I’m sure he’s got men out looking for me.”

“Ach, your husband might have some people out lookin’ too,” Daniel said. He hesitated, shaking his head, “I don’t know how your husband will feel ‘bout you cuttin’ off your hair.”

“I need to get back to Dark Castle intact. If my hair is the cost for my safety, I think he’ll be glad I paid it,” Belle told him. “Maybe I could get some other clothes, things that look more ragged and worn.”

“I think I kin help with that,” Daniel told her.

Belle spent a pleasant evening with Daniel and Regina, sharing a little of their meager rations and telling them the story of her kidnapping and escape. Daniel slept down in the stables, leaving the little bed for the ladies to share.

As sunlight streamed in through the window, Belle lay for a moment, taking deep breaths to settle her stomach – yet again, she’d woke with queasiness. But, after a simple breakfast of bread and honey, she felt fine and set off, dressed in a stable boy’s old clothing and wearing a hat. A casual observer would pass her off a boy. She was now able to make good time driving the wagon and staying on the main road.

It was late afternoon when she approached the border between the Archduke’s lands and Stiltskin’s properties. She was met with armed soldiers who were inspecting those leaving the duchy.

The officer in charge looked her over.

“Who are you? Where are you going?”

“I’m Dan’el, sir. On me way to White Station t’ visit with me cousin Molly. Brungin’ ‘er some veggies I grew meself,” Belle told the man, lowering her voice, hoping she sounded more like a lad than a lady.

The soldiers looked through her wagon. They dumped out her backpack and discovered the apothecary tins.

“What are these?” the officer asked.

“Doan know. Brother John, down ways, asked me to take ‘em on t’ White Station t’ Granny Lucas. I think, am for cookin’.” Belle schooled her expression to one of dullness and boredom.

The officer opened several of the tins but clearly didn’t recognize any of the contents.

“I know Brother John. He’s an old hermit cleric. Grows a lot of herbs. Harmless,” said one of the officers.

“Yeah, this one’s just a kid. Let him go on,” the officer in charge decided.

“Thank ‘ee, sir,” Belle nodded and drove through the checkpoint, breathing a sigh of relief. She was thankful she had hidden her money and her few pieces of jewelry in the wheel wells of the wagon. Her now small supply of Fairy Dust had been slipped under the label of her backpack.

Relieved to be back on her husband’s lands, Belle continued on, getting to White Station late in the afternoon and then electing to continue on to Dark Castle, riding until it was dark. She slept under the wagon and, squelching her disapproving stomach, started out just before dawn the next morning. When she came into the town below Dark Castle she began passing revelers and realized she had arrived on the Lughnasadh celebration. By evening, she knew, everybody would be home with their families feasting on foods from the First Harvest. As she came up to the gate of the castle, she was met by Dearborn, a sweet young man, but rather limited.

She reminded him of who she was and, not quite believing her, the young man nevertheless allowed her inside. She went on into the castle, first dropping the horse off at the stables, brushing down the old animal and giving him a good supper. She went on into the castle keep, finding the huge building empty and dark. As she had thought, everyone had departed to go home for the First Harvest Festival.

But, she thought, it still felt like home. She had such pleasant memories of this place.

She found her way to the kitchen and was easily able to scrounge up some leftovers for an early cold supper. She realized she was ravenous, not surprising given the short rations she’d been surviving on. She went on into the darkened library carrying her supper on a tray, turned on some of the gas lanterns and sat down. She liked this room best in all the castle.

She considered her next course of action. She needed to get word to her husband that she had made it to Dark Castle and was all right. She needed to let him know about Killian’s masquerade. She needed to let him know about Killian’s forays into Oz.

And they needed to talk about what was really going on with the Fairy Dust. Belle was starting to believe that for whatever role her husband might be having in the drug trade, the Archduke was in it much deeper – much, much deeper.

As she sat savoring a meal of leftover potato soup, cold chicken, day-old bread and an early season apple, she began hearing some odd sounds – footsteps, possibly? The noises, occurring in the supposedly empty house, gave her chills.

It came back to her then – this room was supposed to be haunted by the old master, Zoso – the one who had lost the property to her husband’s father and who had then hung himself. Staff had complained of hearing noises and finding things had been moved in this room. They had all been reluctant to come into the room.

But Belle was not a fearful woman. Ghost it might be, but she thought there could be another explanation. She stilled and listened. It really did sound like someone was walking around on the other side of the wall. She might also have heard some muffled voices. Along with the footsteps, there were a few thumps, as if a door had been slammed or something dropped.

The noises were definitely coming from behind the walls of the library. As she listened, she was able to determine that the sounds were moving out toward the exterior wall. Belle rose and tried to figure out just where the sounds were coming from – definitely coming from behind one of the bookcases. She began to press on the bookcases and, not entirely surprised, she had one of them swing open for her. She was hit was a blast of cool, stale air and presented with a dark gray stone hallway. Belle hesitated, but then picked up one of the lit lanterns and stepped into the secret corridor.

The footsteps had gone outside, so Belle decided to go the other direction and quickly found herself ascending a narrow stone staircase. She walked the cool dark hallway looking all around herself with each step – stone walls, flagstone floor, low ceiling. When she came to a door, she opened it and stepped through.

She had not been in this room before, but clearly, it resembled her husband’s private study at Brookstry – his signature style of utilitarian furniture with a plethora of shelving. There was a plain wooden floor, a heavy desk, and bookcases filled with notebooks. There was also a table, that judging by the lack of dust, had recently been cleared off.

She then heard the noises again.

_Someone was coming back up to the study._

She hastily shut the door to the secret corridor and turned off the lantern. She pulled her gun and waited in the darkest corner of the room, a corner that allowed her to see the panel that opened into the secret corridor.

It took only a moment, but a man dressed entirely in black stepped through. _He did look familiar._ He was carrying something small, but heavy -- an egg-shaped device about the size of a sweet melon. He set it on the table, placing it down carefully.

She thought she had been thoroughly silent, but then he addressed her without turning around, speaking to the wall.

“Are you planning on shooting me in the back?” He then turned to face her, and Belle heard a sharp intake of breath, “Belle!”

“You know my name?” she asked the man, puzzled. She looked hard at the man. Yes, this was the Dark One, if she was correct, the real Dark One, the one she had met on her voyage from Dark Castle to Brookstry, the one who had propositioned her and (rather thoroughly) kissed her.

The man stood a moment not moving, not responding. He spoke hesitantly, “Uh . . . well . . . I . . . uh . . . I learned early enough that the pretty wench who’d told me she was Molly Lucas . . . was . . . uh . . . actually the clever Lady Isabelle Stiltskin.” He paused then added, “You have much inhabited my mind since our little encounter and . . . I confess, I have become rather familiar with you in my imagination.”

Belle frowned. “Why are you here?” she asked him, holding her gun on him, steady and sure.

“Making a delivery to your husband.” He gestured at the object he’d set on the table.

“I should shoot you, you know that. You’re a wanted criminal,” she told him.

The man rocked from one foot to another. “Ah, but then you would have to explain how I was in your husband’s private study.”

Belle bit her lip. “It does look like you two are in business together.”

“So, you’ll let me go?” The man continued rocking back and forth, slowly moving away from the table. He often would twist his hands in the air while he talked – _a most distracting habit._

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Are you working with the Archduke?” she blurted out her question.

“No,” the man sharply responded. He then spoke softly, “If you must know, I confiscate Fairy Dust whenever I find it and hand it off to your husband. He disposes of it, destroying it so that it never reaches the market.” The man had shifted so that he was near the door of the study.

“That’s a ridiculous story.”

“Which is perhaps why your husband hasn’t told you about his role in this entire Fairy Dust debacle – it’s too ridiculous to be believed,” the Dark One told her. “As for me, I deal in the ridiculous. I deal in visions . . . and subterfuge . . . and slight of hand and . . .” he paused, “misdirection.” He looked to one side of her and, when she reflexively turned to look, he threw some sort of dust in her direction, blinding her, disorienting her. She realized very quickly that she was going down, losing consciousness, and, aiming as she could, she fired her gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Belle reunites with her husband.  
> Rumple and Killian clash swords (and a lot is revealed).


	15. A Waste of Good Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle reunites with her husband.  
> Rumple and Killian clash swords (finally) -- and a lot is revealed.

Belle came to -- slumped in a dark corner of her husband’s study. She was nauseated, and her head hurt, but she was able to pull herself up. With no windows, the room was nearly pitch dark and she had to take a moment to orient herself. She felt around and found her gun, picking it up off the floor, and by feel, slipped on the safety, _even though she knew the little weapon was now out of bullets_. She tucked it in the back of her trousers. It was a specially designed gun and she was only able to load in two bullets. She had shot them both out and she didn’t have a ready source for new bullets.

She shook her head, trying to remove the haze. The Dark One had thrown something in her face, something that had made her pass out.

She rubbed her forehead, trying to focus her eyes. She made her way to the door and opened it, letting in some soft, ambient light from the hallway, enough light for her to find her lantern. She could see that the odd sweet melon item that the Dark One had been carrying had been taken from the table. She began to look around to see if she could see what damage, if any, her wildly fired shot might have done. As she went through the door, she saw a splatter on the floor. It had dried, so she had no way to know how long it had been there _but knowing Mrs. Pott’s housekeeping skills, she thought it most likely that the splatter was recent – probably very recent_. She opened the door and went down the hallway, finding a scattered trail of dried splatters.

It looked like she might have winged the man, if not outright wounded him. The splatters led to the kitchen and out the door.

It was now evening, just barely light, and Belle went outside to search – not sure what she would do if she found anything. She ended up returning to the library. She cleaned up the dishes from her early supper and went into the Yellow Drawing Room.

She was stunned to find her husband there in the darkened room, sitting with his back to the door, facing the garden doors that led out to the patio. She nearly gasped, surprised that her body responded instantly to his presence. She wanted nothing more but to fling herself on to him.

_She had so missed this man, his voice, his touch, his presence._

_Abruptly it struck her that she was in love with him._

_How could she not have realized this before now?_

He was dressed, not in his usual vested suit, but in black pants and a pristine white shirt, open at the neck. It was a casual look that she wasn’t used to seeing on the man. It looked good on him and she was surprised to find that she had such deep, warm feelings upon seeing him again.

She had to remind herself that he might have lied to her, seriously lied to her, that she had left him to think over the state of her marriage, that she had decided to confront him about the evidence she’d accrued regarding his possible involvement with drug dealing.

But right now, all that was all hard to remember.

No, at this moment, she didn’t want to talk with the man. She just wanted to run to him and wrap her arms around him.

“My lord husband,” she addressed him.

He hadn’t heard her come in but turned when she spoke. He stood, revealing a sword on his hip and he, leaning on his cane, rushed over to her, dropping the cane and putting his hands on both sides of her face. “My god, Belle,” he muttered and he kissed her, a hot, moist kiss, passionate . . . deep . . . soul-searing. He held her head in place and lingered on her mouth, finally, slowly, eventually pulling away but not letting her go.

“I thought you’d left me. I thought I’d lost you,” he told her, his brown eyes clearly reflecting his pain and grief.

“You heard about the kidnapping?” she began.

He confirmed he had, “Captain Grumwald told me what had happened.” He spoke quietly, and she thought she could see lines of worry on his face.

“I’m so sorry. I had no way to get word to you that I’d escaped. I just got here earlier this afternoon,” she shared.  

“I’m so glad to see you again – intact, healthy . . . in full possession of your senses. You’ve had quite an adventure I take it?” he asked her. Belle nodded and retrieved his cane for him. She allowed him to take her hand and pull her down to the little sofa in the room. His hand went up to her short hair and he threaded his fingers through the curls.

“I have,” she admitted. In a rush, she spilled what she thought was the most important piece of information, “Archduke Killian is pretending to be the Dark One!”

He closed his eyes, “I’ve been suspecting as much. He’s the one who kidnapped you?”

“He was. I had to drug him and jump from a moving airship and I walked a long way and, oh, I made it home finally. I’ll have to tell you all about it and . . . what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away.  When he did speak, he voiced his words slowly, “You . . . _jumped_ . . . from a moving airship?” He blinked his eyes and shuddered.

“I had to get off somehow. I worked it all out before I jumped with the rope seat and ladder. I had a pretty good idea of what was on the ground and thought I’d be able to find a soft landing place. There was this haystack . . .”

“Belle,” he interrupted.  “I think I’m better off not knowing. My heart has already stopped twice in this conversation.” He trailed his hand down the side of her face. “And this business is far from finished,” he began. “I received a ransom demand. The ersatz Dark One left thinly disguised messages in a variety of places and, in turn, I left responses, agreeing to meet him here.”

“But he doesn’t have me as his prisoner to exchange for any ransom,” Belle protested. “You don’t have to pay him anything.”

“But I had no way to know this. When I agreed to the exchange, I still thought that you were his prisoner – that your life was in danger.”

“What does he want?”

Rumple sighed. “A small thing. A little invention of Jefferson’s.”

“Not that thing that keeps exploding, knocking out walls, and starting fires?”

“That very same thing,” he confirmed, his fingers now tracing along her neck, then back up to her cheek, brushing her hair back from her face. 

Belle wasn’t sure about any of this. “What is it, exactly?”

“They call it an iron bomb. It is an incendiary device that can be dropped from an airship. It’s on a timer and when it hits the ground, it will explode, destroying wherever it lands and starting fires.”

“But . . . why? We’re not at war. We don’t have any enemies that we would ever need to use such a horrible thing.”

Rumple didn’t answer immediately, “It was devised for one specific purpose, but that changed and now, I suspect, the target has changed again.  If I’m correct, the Archduke may be planning to use it on the royal palace, use it to kill the Emperor. Now, I need to get you out of here. I’m expecting Killian any moment . . .”

“It will be four days from now,” she blurted out.

“What?”

“Killian told me he had a mission, a rendezvous in seven days and that was  . . . three days ago.”

Even as she spoke, the door from the gardens opened up.

Belle and Rumple both froze.

It was himself, the Archduke. He was dressed in the black clothes of the Dark One. He swaggered into the little drawing room. They both stood to face him.

“Well, well, such a happy reunion. Nice, very nice. Of course, you now know that your lovely wife was able to manage an escape. I’m impressed. The situation does seem to keep changing,” and he bowed to both of them.

Her husband spoke softly. “I have recovered my wife, or should I say, she’s recovered herself. Tell me, why should I give the ransom to you now?”

“Good question. If you followed my instructions – and I’m sure you did -- none of your people are around and I have this house thoroughly surrounded with my own people. I have you at my mercy. I would regret it, but I am willing to kill you both to get that device.” Killian had his sword at the ready. He narrowed his eyes and focused on Belle, ”I’ll be relieving you of that little weapon you have tucked in the back of your trousers, Lady Belle.  Set it on the pianoforte and don’t make any sudden, unexpected movements.”

Belle slowly removed her gun and crossed the room. She set the little weapon on the pianoforte and then returned to her husband’s side.

“Now Rum, get that device before I decide to go ahead and kill you both,” Killian ordered.

“If you kill us, there’ll be an investigation and sooner or later, someone will figure out it was you,” Belle could not remain silent.

“What? Oh, but it won’t be me, darling. They’ll figure out that it was the Dark One who killed you both,” Killian replied. “Now, for the last time, the device.”

Rumple sighed and stood leaning on his cane. “It’s on the table,” he nodded toward the little table against the wall that Belle had used for tea service so long ago when she’d first come to the Dark Castle.

Killian turned and noticed it, the item Belle had seen earlier, about the size of a sweet melon. He then called out to one of his men, “Johnny, Johnny Corkscrew.” A scruffy individual looked in after his captain. “Take this back to the ship,” Killian pointed to the device.

“Be careful not to touch the switch. It activates a timer and the bomb will go off in about twenty seconds after it’s switched on,” Rumple addressed the young man.

An obviously terrified Johnny made his way out through the garden doors, carrying the device.

“Take it up to the ship. Be careful with it. Tell the men to get back on board. We have a mission to complete,” Killian called after Johnny.

Rumple was watching his adversary warily. Killian was monitoring them closely until he could be sure his men had been rounded up to re-board the _Excaliber,_ taking the weapon with them.

“And now, I will bid you adieu.” Killian then looked at Belle and then back at Rumple. “But, I will be insisting on taking the Lady Belle with me. I need to be sure that you won’t pursue me. I promise, I’ll return her, when I’m all finished, nonetheless worse for wear.” He motioned for Belle to follow him.

Rumple sighed audibly. “I don’t think so,” he told the other man.

“What? You going to stop me?” Killian laughed at the man.

“I think I will,” Rumple said and both Killian and Belle watched while the man pulled his rapier from the scabbard at his side. Belle had, on occasion, seen her husband wearing the scabbard, but had assumed that it was a fashion accessory rather than a statement of serious intent.

“Rumple, you can’t do this. You don’t have to do this!” Belle couldn’t stop herself from calling out. Rumple gave her a glance and a quick smile. Then he raised his sword to his nose in a quiet salute.

“I’ll manage,” he told her.

Killian laughed again. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m the best swordsman in the empire.”

“I’d heard that you’re only second best,” Rumple told him. He stood, swapping the sword back and forth between his two hands as if trying to decide which would be the better hand to use. Deciding, he held up the weapon and approximated the _en garde_ position. He lunged at the Archduke

Belle watched as her husband initially stumbled and flailed around with the sword. He spent most of his time grabbing at furniture for support and frantically trying to avoid Killian’s attacking thrusts, somehow managing to wildly parry each incoming effort on the part of the Archduke.

Killian wasn’t breaking a sweat. He seemed bored as he slowly, deliberately advanced on the hapless Rumple. Killian seemed completely confident that he had the upper hand.

“You have no hope of surviving this. If you put your weapon down, I promise to make it quick,” Killian told him. “And I’ll even arrange for your wife to have a little stipend,” Killian glanced over at Belle. “Of course, she may prefer to barter herself to another rich man.”

Stiltskin pulled himself straight and bit his lip, narrowing his eyes. His response was to grab one of the opened whiskey bottles and fling the contents toward Killian who wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the potent liquid.

“Now that’s a sin, a waste of good whiskey.” Killian wiped his face off and scowled. He lunged and connected with Stiltskin’s face, leaving a bleeding cut on the man’s cheek.

“I agree,” Belle heard her husband mutter. He stepped back and found that he was against the wall with no place to go.

Killian shook his head, “All too easy.”

Belle stood by, frantic with her inability to intervene. Even if she could get to her own gun, she had no bullets – at best, she might bluff her way into separating the men and saving her husband – but, if Killian should call her bluff – oh, the stakes were too high. Instead, she reached up to the fireplace mantle and pulled down a crystal vase, smashing it on the stones of the fireplace. It worked as a distraction as Rumple took the opportunity to roll away and with some effort pull himself up, maneuvering a chair between himself and Killian.

“Your wife is a clever sort, Stiltskin. And pretty. How did you ever manage to get yourself a clever, pretty wife?” Killian slipped around to one side of the chair so that there was no longer any barrier between the two men. “Oh yes, you bought her.”

His words seemed to irritate Rumple who made a few surprising abrupt lunges, missing his mark each time and pulling back. Killian saeasily parried the feeble attempts.

“The word is that you haven’t been able to consummate. That she’s not . . . your type. Milah always said you didn’t have much to offer a woman,” Killian continued. “Rather a shame that such a valuable resource is being wasted – or is it? Perhaps you rent her out for others?”

Rumple, his limp pronounced, holding onto furniture to stay upright, had begun to circle his opponent.

Killian wasn’t paying his adversary much attention. He continued with his taunts, “I enjoy the occasional brunette. Perhaps I shall indulge myself with her after I’ve disposed of you.”

Rumple suddenly moved in and this time he feinted with his first thrust, switching directions and ending by nicking Killian on the shoulder. Killian stepped back.

“Good job. I wasn’t expecting that. So, you do have some skills with a blade.” And Killian moved in again, with a series of fierce attacks. Somehow Rumple managed to continue to dodge each one. Then in a move no one expected, the heretofore clumsy Rumple followed up his defense with a riposte and a quick thrust into Killian’s shoulder. His blade came out bloodied.

“Damn you!” Killian shouted rubbing his hand on his shoulder. “I’ll have the wench over your dead body.”

Killian stopped holding back and playing with his quarry. He came at Rumple with all his skill and Belle watched with some astonishment as her clumsy, inept husband managed to parry each thrust – his actions now deliberate and focused. The two men were all over the room and Belle did her best to keep to the opposite side of where they were fighting so as not to end up as a shield for the unscrupulous Killian.

The two men connected, Rumple’s sword sliding down the blade of Killian as the two men went face to face. “You know I have faith that even if I should fail my wife will certainly take you down,” Rumple told him softly.

“I doubt I’ll have any difficulties managing her after I’ve disposed of you,” Killian snarled.

“Just letting you know.” And the two men broke apart.

Rumple’s demeanor _had_ changed. He no longer seemed to be the limping, clumsy defensive fighter. He no longer seemed to be cringing and depending on luck and frantic effort. Belle watched in astonishment as her husband, a man she had never seen without his limp, sprung into action. There was no sign of infirmity as he moved quickly, slashing repeatedly at an equally surprised Killian who barely managed to block Rumple’s thrusts.

He smiled at the Duke. “This will make, what now? Three times we’ve met in combat?”

“What?” Killian was thrown off.

“The other two times were on that old rust bucket of yours, _The Swan King_.” Rumple flèched, sprinting past his opponent and positioning himself between Belle and the Duke and, once again, he connected with the Duke, again going after the wounded shoulder.

Killian stood frozen. “No, that’s not possible.”

“As I recall, I had to leave both times because an armory of ships began moving in.” He lunged, forcing Killian to fall back. “And, besides, I had already gotten what I’d come for.”

“It’s not possible,” Killian was struggling to reconcile what he was hearing with what he thought he knew.

Belle was hearing this also. She had been able to pull things together. _The Dark One. Her husband. The same person? She had noted the similarities, but had dismissed them – her husband’s lameness, his foppish manner, even his voice – all so different from the confident, capable Dark One. But now . . ._

_Her husband was having no problems negotiating the demanding positions of the sword fight, even to jumping on and around the furniture in the room, he didn’t seem hampered in the least. And he was, now, clearly adept with the blade he carried._

“You son of a bitch!” Killian managed to grit out.

“True enough,” Rumple told him with a grin. He continued to advance on the bleeding Duke who was now stepping back from each attack.

Killian had been forced up against the pianoforte. Desperately, he reached down to grab Belle’s gun and pointed it at Rumple who froze. Killian pulled the trigger, but the weapon just clicked. Killian swore and flung it at Rumple who had to duck.

Now furious, Killian swore, “Die, you damn bastard, die!” He made another desperate attempt, coming at Rumple with everything he had left, swiping and lunging. This time it was Rumple who parried, calmly meeting each and every attempt.

And when Killian made one last furious lunge, Rumple flicked his blade harshly causing the slender instrument to curve and with every bit of strength, he reached around and plunged the weapon into the Killian’s side.

The Duke cried out and dropped his weapon. “You have no idea what is going to happen,” he sneered. “It’s just icing that you actually happen to be the Dark One. I’m going to get rid of all my enemies with one move and end up with everything.” With one last surge of panicked energy, Killian managed to back out of the Yellow Room, onto the patio and over the railing, running back toward the ropes that led up to his ship.

“Aren’t you going after him?” Belle asked her husband.

“I think I may need a moment,” Rumple told her and, smiling, he slowly slumped to the floor.

Alarmed, Belle ran to him even as he collapsed. She knelt next to him and noticed there was a stain on the shirt covering his upper left arm.

“I never saw him wound you there,” she told him, helping him off with his shirt.

“He didn’t,” Rumple said, his words beginning to slur. “That was . . . where my . . .  wife . . . winged me.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were the Dark One when I took a shot at you! You, you numbskull! What were you thinking? I could have killed you!” Belle peeled the shirt off the arm and winced. There was a bandage around the top of his arm and blood was seeping through at an alarming rate. Belle realized that her wild shot had done some damage, some real damage.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’m sorry. You’ve got to be furious with me. I should have probably . . .  uh . . . let you in on what was going on earlier, but . . .  I was operating under Imperial orders. Forgive me, my Lady Wife, but I’m a little dizzy.” He closed his eyes.

Belle ran to the ropes that rang bells for different staff and began to pull down on all of them.

“Is there anyone else here?” she called over to Rumple. “Is Jefferson with you? Where is everyone?”

“Around. The _Dark Wind_ is disguised as a little merchant ship and is off the property. I didn’t know you were here and Killian had told me to meet him alone to make the exchange. My people all stayed . . . way . . . behind,” he explained slowly.

Belle had pulled off her overblouse and was beginning to tear it into strips. She removed the torn pillowcase that Rumple had apparently used to dress the wound and sucked in her breath.

“I’m going to need to clean this properly.” She looked over at the whiskey. _That should work._ She got up and picked up one of the bottles.

“What a good idea,” her husband told her and took the bottle from her, raising it to his lips and taking a healthy swig.

“I was planning to use that to clean your wound,” she told him acerbically. . 

“Oops,” he told her but didn’t relinquish the bottle. “One more swig,” he said and downed a good portion of the amber liquid before handing the bottle back to her.

Her husband winced as she cleaned the area. She examined the wound. She had grazed him, taking off layers of skin and a little muscle. Satisfied it was cleaned up, she wrapped the strips of her blouse around him, binding him up snugly.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

At that moment, Jefferson came rushing in. Another time, Belle might have blushed to greet the man wearing her trousers and a lacy chemise top but not at this moment. Too many really important things going on.

“You all right?” Jefferson asked her, surveying the situation. “We saw the _Excaliber_ sailing away and I came in to check on things.”

“I’m fine. The Archduke took your device and then he and Rumple fought,” she summarized what had happened.

“Killian wounded him?” Jefferson asked, taking in his employer’s soporific state.

Belle winced. “Uh . . . no. I . . . I . . . earlier, I thought he was the Dark One and . . . I  . . . uh . . . I shot him.”

Jefferson took a long look at her, failing to hold back a wry smile, “I tried to warn him something like that might happen.”

“He and the Dark One are the same person, aren’t they?” Belle had to ask. She wanted confirmation.

“Indeed. He’s been operating under secret imperial orders to try to disrupt the drug trade, to try to find out who was responsible for the influx of Fairy Dust,” Jefferson explained.

“Why couldn’t he tell me earlier?” Belle demanded. “Was it all secret orders? It would have made so much . . . so many things . . . why didn’t he tell me earlier?”

“To be honest, you haven’t been told anything yet. You know nothing. This operation’s all still a big secret,” Jefferson smiled at her. He knelt by Rumple. “Wake up. If Killian’s got the device, we’ve got to go after him.”

Rumple struggled to regain consciousness. “My arm hurts.”

“Get up, man.” Jefferson helped Rumple to sit up. “How much did you drink?”

“’bout half a bottle – the good stuff. Belle was cleaning my arm and it was . . . unpleasant. And she called me a numbskull,” Rumple complained, but he blinked and allowed Jefferson to pull him upright.

“I’m sure she’ll have more colorful things to say to you another time. But right now, we’ve got to go. Killian has a lead on us,” Jefferson reminded him.

Rumple nodded and took a deep breath. “Belle, I hate to let you out of my sight, but I’ve got to finish this up . . .”

She interrupted. “You aren’t leaving me.”

Rumple was momentarily bereft of words. “I . . . I . . . I couldn’t possibly take you on this mission. It’s going to be very dangerous.”

“Like I haven’t been in dangerous situations before?” she asked.

“But . . . we’ll be trying to prevent an assassination. We’ll have the fate of the empire in our hands. It’s no place . . . I don’t want to put you in any more danger,” he tried to explain.

“Do you think for one moment that I’ll be safer here than with you? If Killian sends people after me, do you think that they won’t be able to get to me, even here among people that love us and care for us?”

“But, Belle. It’s a warship and you’re a woman . . .” he floundered.

“If you leave me, so help me, I’ll commandeer a ship and I’ll sail after you,” Belle promised him.

Jefferson intervened. “Either tie her up and leave her where she’ll be found or let her come with us. We don’t have time to argue this.”

Rumple looked at his wife. “I must be bloody insane.” He sighed. “Come along, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: The chase is on!   
> Belle and Rumple have a talk (and enjoy some intimate time). Rumple has a new suspicion regarding his lovely wife.
> 
> A.N. Just a minor heads-up. In the next couple of weeks, my usual early Thursday morning postings will be a bit delayed. I’ve been asked to teach a summer school class and won’t be home until about 10:30. I still intend to keep to the Thursday posting schedule, just later in the day. – twyla.


	16. Closeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chase is on!   
> Belle and Rumple have a talk (and enjoy some intimate time).  
> Rumple has a new suspicion regarding his lovely wife.

Belle managed to grab a sweater to pull over her chemise before she and Jefferson left the drawing room to make their way over to Rumple’s airship _._ The canopy had been covered with colorful sheeting so that it looked like a merchant's vessel.

Belle insisted she be allowed to board first, riding the rope chair up to the fast, little ship. Jefferson then put Rumple into the rope chair, telling him that he was in no shape to climb the ladder. Jefferson boarded last, deftly managing climbing up the ropes. Rumple had already ordered the sheeting off the canopy revealing the black balloon that marked the ship as the _Dark Wind._ The ship turned to begin moving toward the capital, chasing after the _Excaliber_.

“Do we have a plan?” Belle asked the two men.

“What do you mean?” Rumple asked her.

“When we catch up with the _Excaliber_ , what happens then?”

“If we get close enough . . . and we aren’t over a populated area, we engage in an old-fashioned cannon fight. We’ll try to take out each other’s canopy,” Jefferson explained.

“That seems rather dangerous,” Belle observed.

“It is,” Rumple said sullenly. “It’s why I didn’t want you to come on this trip.”

Belle nodded. “It’s why I didn’t want you to leave me back at Dark Castle,” she said quietly

**Cabin**

Rumple led his wife to his cabin. It was furnished in his typical stoic style – bare floors, a utilitarian table with a single chair, and a small cot that could be pulled up against the wall during the day.

“I am curious. What would you have done if I’d agreed to go with you that first meeting . . . you know, when you, as the Dark One, kissed me and suggested I come with you?” Belle asked him, taking a seat in the chair.

He chuckled. “I would have made you my pirate queen.”

Belle shook her head. “Would you have? I think you would have been disappointed that I was so willing to disavow my marriage and go off with a stranger.”

“You mean, another stranger? We didn’t know each other then,” he corrected her. “I guess . . .” he admitted slowly, “I owe you an apology. I was just taken by how beautiful you were, and I wanted to kiss you. You’re right though. I would have been disappointed if you’d agreed to come with me – I suppose I was testing you . . . and that was wrong – very wrong of me.”

Belle nodded. “Thank you,” she said simply.

Rumple seemed nervous. “Belle, I . . . I think that something has gone awry in our relationship, our marriage. I felt something had gone wrong when you left to go visit your father. How is he, by the way?”

“Fine. He’s engaged to your Mrs. Potts.”

“Really? Good for him . . . and her . . . and nice for you too, I think.” Rumple ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen, I don’t know what happened, if anything happened between us. Jefferson has assured me that if there is a problem it is absolutely my fault and he’s brilliant and always right . . . so, I’m sure it’s my fault – something I said or did . . .  or didn’t say or do. I’m sorry. Tell me what it is, what I did?”

“It’s not you. It’s me,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I saw . . . I heard a couple of things and jumped to some conclusions.”

Rumple disengaged the cot from the wall and it dropped down, mattress side up, two chains, one at each end, holding it level to the floor. He sat down on it and sighed. “What? What happened?”

She didn’t look at him. “I kept hearing all those rumors about you and your . . . business dealings and then Mr. Woodson came to the house looking for drugs . . .” she took a deep breath.

“And?”

“Well, when I went up to your office to get you a second cane . . . I couldn’t resist looking around, I mean, your room is always locked and secret. I sat at your desk in that amazing chair. It has wheels and goes around . . . I sat in it.” Her eyes brightened up.

“I’ll arrange to have one made for you,” he promised her.

Belle nodded and smiled but then became serious. “I overstepped myself. I couldn’t resist. I looked in your desk and . . . I found paper and pens . . .” she brushed her hand over her mouth as if to choke the words down. But then she spoke, “and I found a bag of white powder.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. “The Fairy Dust I had not had a chance to dispose of.” He looked at her ruefully. “And you thought I was dealing. Why else would a man have a bag of Fairy Dust in a room that he always keeps locked.”

“There’s more,” she sniffed.

“There’s more?”  He was curious now. “Go on,” he told her.

“While in Avonlea, I heard that you had tried to purchase the right of way to the quarries, the same roads that go by the poppy fields.”

“So, you thought I had married you to gain access to the poppies,” he finished.

She nodded.

“Did you ever ride up to those quarries to look over the poppy fields?”

She shook her head _no._

 

“Belle, any rational person might have come to the same conclusions you did.” He looked away a moment before meeting her eyes again. “You should know, I did marry you – and this decision was made before I ever met you – I did marry you, in part, to get to those damn poppy fields.” He paused, “But, please, believe me, it was not so that I could sell the poppies, but so that I could destroy them.”

“Really?”

He took another deep breath. “Let me start at the beginning, at least a little before I came into the story. About fifteen years ago, the Emperor had begun to notice a proliferation of a new drug, a very dangerous, very addictive, very deadly drug. He didn’t make a lot of progress with stopping it and called me in to help.”

“So, you’re working for the Emperor?” Belle asked.

He nodded and continued. “I had to start from the ground up. What was this drug? Where did it come from? That part didn’t take me long. It was . . . it became known as Fairy Dust. I learned it was a medicinal that was made from a poppy, a particular poppy . . . and I learned that this poppy grew wild in two and only two places. One was Avonlea. Your father was implicated early on, but we learned that he, out of concern for the abuse of the drug, he had already cut off the roads to the supply. It’s possible for someone to get up to those fields, but it’s not easy. Also, there had certainly been no change in your father’s lifestyle -- he wasn’t living the high life off his drug revenues – so, right at the inception of the investigation, most of us eliminated your father as the mastermind.”

Belle had to smile at the image of her father as a drug-dealing mastermind.

“The other place the poppy grew was Oz, in the high country hillsides.” Rumple stood. “At first, we thought that the Oznian Over-Witch was involved in a conspiracy against us – to flood the Empire with this drug, weakening us, sapping our resources and reserves as we tried to deal with the crisis, but . . . what we were getting from her was that her country was being regularly invaded by rogue poppy harvesters and she began to threaten war. Zelena is very powerful. She has a number of devices that could represent a danger to us – masks that protect people from toxic fumes and these remarkable little hoverboards that can allow a man to fly – she would be a very dangerous enemy.”

He took a breath before continuing, “It was at that time that I recruited Jefferson to create a weapon that, should we go to war, we could use to defeat her, a weapon we could drop from our airships.”

“The iron bomb,” Belle confirmed.

He nodded in agreement. “My role initially was trying to stop the in-rush of Fairy Dust. It didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t do that as Stiltskin, who for all his other faults was a law-abiding businessman, so . . .”

Belle suddenly put it together, “You created the Dark One!”

“I did. The Dark One, as a thief and a pirate, could board ships without a warrant, search them, take things off. For a while, I was able to intercept a modest number of drug shipments, but . . . I was only one person and there were so many ships transporting. The Dark One just couldn’t be everywhere he was needed, not everywhere he was needed to shut this business down. I did find very quickly that most ships were not carrying contraband; however, the Archduke’s ships almost always carried the drug.”

“So right away, you suspect the Archduke as being complicit in the drug trade?”

“Exactly. Add to this, his duchy is immediately adjacent to Oz, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that he was mounting excursions across the border, excursions in the guise of protective military action, but which were really drug-gathering expeditions.

“What was additionally concerning was that Killian’s actions were antagonizing a neighboring country, a powerful country and one that we did not want to antagonize. Probably my diciest moment as the Dark One was when I first contacted Zelena, the Over-Witch.”

“What was that like?” Belle was eager to hear this story.

“I swooped in riding on the Dark Wind and dropped down to her private tower.”

“And how did that work out?” Belle had to imagine her own reaction had the Dark One suddenly appeared on her old Avonlea bedroom balcony. A more romantic meeting she couldn’t imagine.

“Not well, I think she thought I had come because I was enamored of her, rather than serving as an envoy of our Emperor. It took a while, but we worked out a détente and she and the Emperor began communicating. He was quite taken with her. She is very beautiful if you like tall redheads. I’m partial to petite brunettes, myself,” he assured her with a gentle smile. “She’s also devious, manipulative and untrustworthy – the Emperor found her delightful, a soulmate. For a few years, I was their postman taking missives back and forth, then I became their . . . uh . . . panderer, making arrangements for their liaisons, often at the most unlikely locations.”

“Why couldn’t you just go ahead and have Killian arrested for  . . . well, any number of crimes?” Belle asked.

“Good question. He’s a member of the peerage. He’s in line for the throne. To arrest someone of his station requires a great deal of evidence. I’d have to be in the company of two judges and a priest and we’d all have to see and hear Killian taking money for drugs. It made it harder that the man is smart, he had covered his tracks and covered them well. We couldn’t find any direct link between him and drug traffickers. He certainly didn’t seem to be benefiting from the drug dealing – I mean, he was always having to borrow money and seemed on the edge of penury – although I realize now, that was a ruse. He was biding his time until he made his move. He must have learned of Jefferson’s weapon and decided that, if he could obtain it, he could make a definitive blow against the Emperor.”

“So you think his plan is to destroy the royal family and  . . . and . . .”

“Take over?” Rumple asked. “Yes, yes I do. He’s on his way to the palace where I happen to know the Emperor will be entertaining Zelena, in preparation for the announcement of their wedding. If Killian is successful, he will be able to assassinate both the Emperor and Zelena, blame me, both Stiltskin and the Dark One for their deaths, and step into the void, certainly for the Empire, possibly for Oz, which will be thrown into turmoil with the death of the Over-Witch.”

“Well then, we have to stop him,” Belle said.

“Yes, we do and we will,” Rumple assured her. “We will.”

Belle sat digesting everything that Rumple had told her. “You couldn’t tell me any of this before?”

“Because I didn’t want to drag you into what I was doing. The Dark One was operating outside of the law and if he were ever apprehended, well . . . I would have likely been summarily hung. And for the longest time . . . I have to confess, I was a bit of a hold-out -- I wasn’t one hundred percent sure that your father wasn’t a drug-dealing mastermind who had framed Killian.”

Belle giggled. “My father . . . ?”

“. . .is an honest man. I know that now. I would be comfortable vouching for him in any court of law in the land,” Rumple told her. He spoke hesitantly, “I have actually tried to emulate the man, his care for his people, making sure their needs are met, even before his own, in all my dealings with my own people.”

Belle rose to come over to Rumple. She leaned down and kissed him and he pulled her down onto his lap. “Thank you. That was very kind of you. I know, I know that many people think of my father as weak because he isn’t willing to hurt those people who are dependent upon him. I think of him as strong.”

“I think that he is one of the finest people I’ve ever met.”

“That’s very nice of you to say,” she told him.

“I have learned to recognize and value talent when I see it.”  The two looked into each other’s eyes for a while. It was Rumple who broke contact.

“Supper?” he asked.

“That would be nice,” she told him. “I’ve had an early supper, but no lunch, so supper sounds good.”

“I’ll be back,” he said and ooffing her off of his lap, he stood. He hesitated, clearly not wanting to leave his Belle, but, resolved, he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and exited, leaving her alone in his cabin.

Belle couldn’t help but compare his cabin to Killian’s whose cabin was over-stuffed and filled with useless luxuries. Rumple’s quarters were sparse and utilitarian, with minimal clutter and no luxuries – very much like the man himself. Belle found that there was a separate room for the niceties, including a washbasin and a rather elegant compact chamber pot. She knew from her previous voyages that fresh water was rationed on an airship and treated the limited amount that was available to her with reverence. She hadn’t had an opportunity to bathe since . . . since she had left Avonlea which was several days ago. She found Rumple’s spicy soap by the wash basin and opted to use a little water and his soap to give herself a sponge bath – not the most desirable option, but an option, nonetheless. She pulled off her boots and peeled off her socks. She then stripped off her sweater, her chemise, and her trousers. Standing only in her lacy panties, she washed herself off. There was no way to wash her hair and it had become a wild curly mass with a personality of its own. _No help for that._ She didn’t want to put on the same clothing she’d worn for several days now and went out into Rumple’s compartment to see if she could find something else to wear.

She looked around. The place was so immaculately tidy that it wasn’t readily apparent where there might be storage. She checked out one of the walls and found that there were barn doors that she could push aside to reveal shelves and cubbies. She found one of Rumple’s white shirts, a pullover with lacing at the neck.

Perfect. She pulled it on. The linen fabric was smooth and the overlarge shirt hit her at mid-thigh. She set her other clothes aside so that they would, at least, air out, before she had to put them back on. She took a moment to rinse out her little panties, hoping they would be dry by morning.  

 

Rumple returned carrying a basket and a second chair. He placed the chair by the table and set the basket down, opening so he could pull out some bowls and a small tureen.  There was a small baguette and some butter. He also had a canister of tea and two teacups.

He turned to look at her. “What are you wearing?”

“One of your shirts. I rinsed my things out. I hope that’s all right.”

“Not complaining,” he told her. He watched her shovel food into her mouth. She ended up sopping up the remnants of the stew with her bread. He knew she’d had little enough to eat while she’d been making her way back to him and couldn’t disapprove of her healthy appetite. He was too nervous to eat.

_What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t feel nervous around this woman, she was his wife and in the eyes of the laws of the land, essentially his property. And he had thought of her that way – before he had gotten to know her. Now, he thought of her as this fragile, beautiful creature who had blessed him with her approval. He didn’t want to disappoint her . . . well, any more than he already had._

_He’d long ago realized that he didn’t just want this woman in his bed. He wanted her by his side, watching his back. He wanted her in his life, sitting next to him at the table, across from him in a carriage._

_Damn, he felt like a schoolboy around the woman._

Soon enough, she was clearing up the dishes and putting them back on the tray. “That was delicious,” she told him. “I guess what they say about hunger being the best sauce is true.”

“Did I bring enough?” he had to ask.

“Oh yes. I just haven’t been eating very well.” She looked up at him, surprised to see concern on his face. “You do know that I’m in love with you, don’t you?” she asked.

“What? Why?” he asked, astonished at her abrupt confession.

“Back at Dark Castle, when I saw you in the drawing room, even though I still wasn’t sure that you weren’t a drug dealer, all I could think about was how much I wanted to run to you, be with you.” She smiled at him, “I knew . . . I knew, what I was feeling was love. And, whatever else was going on, our marriage was worth fighting for.”

Rumple felt a lump in his throat. He knew the woman had tolerated his company, his physical attentions, perhaps she even liked him, but he had never considered that his own deep feelings were returned.

He shook his head. “I’m not a nice person, Belle,” he warned her.

“You are kind. You’re generous and you’re thoughtful. When I look at you, I see a good man.”

He didn’t reply right away. “I try, I really try, to be the man you think I am. But . . . you should know, I haven’t always been good. I could have very well been the drug dealer you thought I might be.”

“But you’re not. Instead, you’re a hero. You’re trying to save people and you aren’t doing it because people will admire you for it, but because it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m not doing all this from the goodness of my heart. I hope to gain a dukedom out of it,” he confessed.

“Perhaps you deserve a dukedom,” she said quietly.

Rumple pulled her down onto his lap. “You know, I wish I could have met your mother. I’m curious about the woman who raised you, who captured your father’s heart.”

“She was smart, beautiful and very, very kind.” _She liked sitting in his lap. She felt cherished._

“Like mother, like daughter,” he told her. “Listen, I know that things are a little . . . a little . . . awkward between us, at the moment. If you would prefer, I can bunk down with the crew and leave the bed to you.”

Belle kissed his neck. “I have missed my husband. I have missed . . . the attentions of my husband.” She looked him in the eye, “I would welcome the attentions of my husband.”

The invitation was unmistakable. He used his hand to pull her face over to his own and gently kissed her. The kiss quickly deepened and became more passionate.

“Good god, woman, I have so missed you in my bed.” He wrapped his arms around her and stood up, carrying her over to the bed. The mood was interrupted briefly as he set her down on the cot.

“This cot was designed for a single person. We’ll be close,” he told her.

“Not a problem,” she assured him.

He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He stopped moving for a moment and swallowed. “I need to take some things off,” he finally managed to get out and reached down to pull off his boots. He stood and removed his shirt and dropped his pants into a messy pile by the cot, following quickly by his close garments.

Belle settled in on the narrow cot, grateful to find the mattress was plush and would likely prove to be comfortable. Her husband seemed nervous as he slipped in next to her.

“I have to lie on my right side,” he told her. “My wife shot me in the left arm and it can’t take any pressure.” He shifted so that his back was to the wall and she was on the outside of the cot. He pulled her back towards himself.

He was still hesitant. “You sure, you’re sure you want this, want me . . . this way?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have any more doubts?”

“I don’t have any more doubts about you,” she said. “But I do have a couple of hundred questions. I mean, why the limp? And who taught you to sword fight? And when did you find out about the secret passages in the Dark Castle? And what did you throw in my face that knocked me out?  And who . . .”

“Enough,” he stopped her. “I don’t want to spend this time talking. I’ll answer your questions as we go along, but not. right. now.” He brushed a hand against her breasts and felt her flinch – _so she was still tender there._

No matter, he kissed her along her neck, feeling her shiver. He dropped a hand down her body, down her stomach, down her hip.

“You’re not wearing your panties?” he quickly discovered. He went ahead and pulled off the shirt she was wearing, leaving her as naked as he was.

“I rinsed them out and they’re drying in your clever wash closet.”

He dimly heard her response. His hand slipped between her thighs. She was already wet for him. _Yes, yes, she was already wet._ Good enough. He couldn’t wait. He’d been separated for far too long and missed this – this special closeness -- nearly as much as he had missed her. He leaned her forward to give him better access and began to push himself into her tight channel.

Belle braced herself as she could against the railing of the cot, holding herself steady and still. This wasn’t the easiest position for her to accommodate his bulk, but he wasn’t forceful and she knew if she could relax that it would happen . . . she knew if she allowed him to have his way, that he would be gentle and he wouldn’t fail to satisfy her -- and it would be wonderful.

She could feel his hand on her hip and dropped her free hand onto his arm, a tender gesture, letting him know that she was accepting, receptive, welcoming of his efforts.

Slowly, he pushed and pushed, allowing her to stay bent forward, but keeping his hand on her hip, controlling her movements. And all the while, he murmured how much he loved her and how beautiful she was.

“Don’t stop now,” she urged him on.  

And when he felt her channel tighten, he realized that he was not the one in control. He was not in control at all.

The comfort, the sheer bliss he always felt in their joining nearly made him black out. He was now in full-hilt and pulled her up against him, tugging her snugly closer, closer so that he could reach around and stroke her, rubbing, stimulating her stiffening feminine bud. He kissed her neck, focusing on the juncture of her neck and shoulder and the hollow behind her earlobe, forcing little shivers to erupt from the woman. Little sounds came out, even as he continued his efforts toward satisfying her. He could feel her body beginning to respond, tensing up and thrashing as if to move away from him.

He continued his efforts, unrelenting, pulling them both along, until he felt her body clench then she stilled, then she and cried out, her body shaking, shattering, pulsing as she gave herself over to him. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t control himself, and it was his turn to give himself up to her, groaning into her neck as his seed spurted into her in hard, satisfying streams.

“Love you, my Belle,” he managed to grunt out.

“I . . .” she was having trouble replying. “Love . . . you . . . too,” she managed to get out in a series of gasps.

They weren’t able to easily separate and he didn’t care, just pulled her closer even as his cock softened and slipped from her body.

“Thank you, darling. That was wonderful,” he told her, even as they began to doze off.

“What we have . . . it’s special, isn’t it?” he heard her ask, her voice thick with sleepiness.

“It is, my love. It is,” he managed to answer her.

They both drifted off into the first serious night’s sleep they had experienced in many nights since Belle had left for Avonlea, since she had been kidnapped – a deep, long, dreamless sleep.

Rumple woke to the sound of retching. His Belle had vaulted out of the bed and was now ensconced in his wash closet, her head bent over the chamber pot.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry,” she managed to tell him, visibly upset. “I guess this is air sickness. I don’t understand. I’ve flown plenty of times before, but  . . . I guess I’ve just been under so much stress.”

“I’m sure that’s all it is,” he reassured her. “Can I get you some crackers? Maybe some tea?”

She wiped her mouth. “That would be lovely.” She turned away from him as she retched again.

He pulled on some clean linen pants and shirt and left her curled up around the chamber pot.

_Air sickness, my arse, he thought._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: The chase continues.  
> Belle comes to a realization.


	17. Storm Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chase continues.  
> Belle comes to a realization.

Good husband that he was, Rumple soon returned with the crackers and some tea for his retching wife. By this time, Belle had wrapped herself up in the sheets and was sitting on the cot, her knees drawn up, clutching the chamber pot to her chest. She was sniffling and looked both pitiable and adorable to his eyes.

“Here you go,” he handed her off the crackers and the tea. “Now you take it easy,” he instructed her. “I have to go out and check on our progress.”

She sniffed and nodded. She put a cracker into her mouth, allowing it to dissolve slowly.

“Do you think you’re going to want any breakfast?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Not now. Maybe later,” she told him in a small voice.

“If you feel up to it, you may want to dress and get some fresh air.”

She nodded. “All right.”

“If I don’t see you, I’ll come back and check on you in a bit,” he promised.

Rumple reluctantly left his wife and got himself a quick breakfast from the galley. He picked up a second breakfast, eggs, and a sausage as well as some coffee and went on out to the deck to check on the man who’d taken the night shift.

“How are we doing?” he asked Jefferson, who was piloting the ship. He handed his friend the eggs, sausage, and coffee.

“Thanks,” Jefferson took the proffered breakfast. “Haven’t spotted the _Excaliber_ yet. You two made up?”

“We did. She’d been thinking I was dealing drugs, but she knows now. She knows everything.”

“Good,” Jefferson told him.

They stood out in the cold morning wind, scanning the skies even as the _Dark Wind_ sped through the air, desperately trailing after the _Excaliber._

Rumple was surprised when Belle, re-dressed in a pair of his trousers with the cuffs rolled up and draped in one of his sweaters, joined them.

“Feeling okay, now?” Rumple asked her.

“Oh yes. The airsickness just lasted a little while. It might have been supper – maybe I just ate too much. I’m better now and really hungry. I thought I’d let you know that I’m going to get some breakfast,” she told him. “Mornin’ Jefferson,” she smiled at her husband’s friend as she turned to go down to the ship’s galley.

The two men watched her as she trailed off to get herself some food.

Jefferson stood quietly for a while. “Airsickness, huh? I take it congratulations may be in order?”   

Rumple glared at Jefferson but then shook his head and sighed. “You’d think, but she’s convinced it’s airsickness.”

Jefferson shrugged. “She’s a smart woman. She’ll figure it out.”

“But in the meanwhile, she jumps from moving airships, goes head to head with nefarious pirates and insists on accompanying her husband into an air battle.”

“You expect her to lie abed eating custard and strawberries and reading ladies’ novels? Good lord, Rumple. Do you not understand the temperament of the woman you married?”

Rumple had to chuckle. “Perhaps, maybe . . . if I could just get something in between those two extremes. A little circumspection would be nice.”

“Perhaps,” Jefferson shrugged. “I think you should plan on giving her half a dozen children. She’ll be a wonderful mother and that should keep her busy.”

Rumple had to agree, “Half a dozen! That would keep me busy. But I agree, I think she’ll be a wonderful mother.”

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder eyeing the horizon. They still couldn’t see anything, certainly no black spot that could be another airship. They weren’t catching up with the _Excaliber._

“Have you looked to the northeast?” Jefferson asked.

Rumple turned and viewed the sky. There was a line of dark clouds looming up from the northeast.

“That’s not good.”

“It’s not,” agreed Jefferson. “The wind has been picking up too.”

Rumple shook his head. _Clearly, a storm was closing in upon them._ “Then we’ll need to go up. One good thing about this is Killian may not be experienced enough to recognize a storm when one comes up on him. He may think he should ride it out instead of trying to get out of the way.”

“I’ll let the crew know,” Jefferson told him. “We’ll get the ropes strung and assign short shifts.”

“Put me on the list. I’ll take my turn along with everyone else,” Rumple told him before leaving to check in with other crew.

 

Finished with her breakfast, Belle had returned to the cabin. Having already discovered the sliding barn doors with all the cubby holes for storage in the cabin, Belle was continuing to explore. She had found more of Rumple’s clothes that with some adaptions would fit her serviceably well enough. She had also found a small stash of books and had pulled a couple of them, settling on the cot to begin reading.

She looked up when Rumple came back into the cabin.

“What have you found to read?” he asked her.

“ _Air Strategy in the Modern Age_ by Merlin El Mago, _”_ she answered.

“A bit dry, but the basics are solid,” he shared. “I needed to let you know that there is a storm coming in. It’s not safe for us to stay at this level, so we’re going up.”

“All right,” Belle answered. She waited. He seemed to have more to share.

“We’ll go up very high. It will get very cold, I mean, really . . . very . . . cold.”

“All right.”

“The air also gets very thin. You can get dizzy just standing up and if you try to walk around you can end up blacking out if you aren’t careful.”

“I’ll stay still,” she told him.

“The crew, and this will include me, we go on short, over-lapping four-hour shifts. We string ropes along the deck, which often gets icy. We hold onto the ropes when we have to go out.”

“I’ll stay in the cabin. Rumple, I understand. We need to avoid the storm and the best way to do it is to fly very, very high. It gets hard to breathe and the deck gets icy.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Listen, Belle, I’m hoping this storm will delay Killian and we’ll be able to catch up with him. If we do, we’ll be heading into battle, trying to blow each other out of the sky. It could get very dangerous.”

“I understand.”

“I would . . . I would . . .” he struggled. “I would prefer it if you would stay in the cabin when all this is going on. This is probably the safest place on the ship. You won’t be able to help during the battle . . .”

“And you don’t want me to get in the way or put myself in danger,” she finished for him.

He seemed relieved. “Exactly. Belle, this is probably the most serious, most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, even more so than sailing into Oz without an invitation and approaching the Over-Witch for the first time. I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Belle smiled at him. “We’re going to be fine. This ship not only has a wonderful captain but a wonderful crew.”

“I’d agree with you about the crew. They’re hand-picked and the best I’ve ever encountered – not to mention, all fiercely loyal to me.”

“Tell me about Jefferson?” _Perhaps she could get some of her questions answered._ ,

 “He’s brilliant. He really should be teaching at the university or doing research at some big facility.”

“He is rather wasted as your majordomo,” she agreed.

“He is and, of course you know, he works at that job only on occasion. When the Emperor commissioned me to make a weapon we could deploy from our airships, in case we ended up in a war with Oz, I knew Jefferson was our best hope for creating such a weapon. But he was in bad shape – his wife had just died and he’d been . . . uh . . . self-medicating when I finally tracked him down. I got him some treatment but, initially, he couldn’t handle any serious responsibilities, so I just hired him to keep my schedule. It gave him something simple to do, something he could do and I could keep track of him and keep him clean. Things just happened from there. In time, he recovered both from his addiction and his grief regarding his wife’s death -- enough that he was able to lend his considerable intellect to the creation of this iron bomb abomination.”

Belle nodded. “One more question?”

“Ah yes, you mentioned that you had a few hundred.” He pulled up a chair.

“The limp,” was all she said.

He gave her a tight smile. “I’m not sure you really want to hear this.” He sat still for a moment. “My father wasn’t the kindest of men and he often let me know that I was a disappointment.” Rumple looked above her head, staring out as he relayed the story. His voice flattened. “He was the one who taught me to swordfight. He was quite good – it was a skill that had been necessary for his survival – that and cheating at cards. Growing up, he let me know that I was never good enough at anything to suit him and when I didn’t do as well as he thought I should, he would . . . he would punish me – usually just a beating, but sometimes he would burn me with his cigar or shut me in my room without food or water for a couple of days. As I got older, the punishments became more . . . inventive. I think he just enjoyed torturing me, perhaps not just me, but anyone that came under his power. He was a disturbed, dangerous individual.”

Belle had gotten up to stand by him as he talked. She was horrified by what she was hearing.

He continued, “Once I had been suspended for several hours while he cut me up with a knife. When I was released I was just dropped onto the stone floor. I landed on my knee and it was severely damaged.”

Belle wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. What happened then?”

“Surprisingly, the ripe bastard decided to send me to a healer who did a good job with me. The healer mended my knee and, perhaps more importantly, he persuaded my father that things would be better off for both of us if I were sent off to a boarding school. I was still on crutches and limping when I arrived at the school and . . . I don’t know . . . I just kept the limp. The school was actually a nice place – for me, it was like heaven – regular hours, regular food, heat, and books . . . and learning . . . and the teachers were kind enough. Having a limp seemed to save me from a lot of grief the other boys had to deal with. I was the rich kid with a limp and I just kept that image. It ended up serving me well.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated herself. “I’m glad you found a safe place. Whatever happened to your father?”

He smiled. “You asked for just one more question,” he reminded her.

“Another day then?”

“Another day,” he promised. “I will tell you the old healer now lives a quiet, comfortable life inside the walls of Dark Castle. He likely saved my life and I have never forgotten him.”

Belle nodded – another reason that she loved this man.

Rumple stood. “You’ll be all right here? I have to go out and keep monitoring some things. The cook is exempt from piloting duties, so we will have food available. I’ll have something sent in.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

She spent the rest of the day reading, stopping only to eat and drag out additional blankets to tuck into the cot and wrap around herself. It was indeed getting cold, very cold, her breath fogging in the still cabin. A few times, she got up to look out the portholes and could only see gray clouds. Food was sent at regular intervals, good, filling food – nothing fancy.

Late in the afternoon, she set a pen on the floor and watched it roll across to the opposite wall – _so they were still climbing._ She finished the simple supper that had been dropped off by herself and then slipped off her boots. She curled up on the cot wearing Rumple’s clothes. It was far too chilly to strip off. She dozed off wrapped in a half-dozen blankets. Sometime during the night, her husband joined her, and she relished his body heat. She ended up lying on her back and he was on his side, draped over her like a warm, breathing blanket.

She woke with the now familiar queasiness. She tried to take deep breaths, but that gave her no relief. She attempted to will herself to normalness, but things just seem to get worse. No help for it, she was going to vomit again.

She grabbed a blanket and slipped from the bed into the freezing cabin, shivering as her bare feet scampered across to the wash closet.

Her husband was by her side soon enough.

“I already got you some crackers,” he told her. “Just in case.”

“Uh huh,” she managed to get out. She had already lost the contents of her stomach but was still experiencing gut-wrenching heaving. She sucked on one of the crackers and returned to the bed, clutching the chamber pot. She deposited it by the bed and snuggled back down, relieved to be able to return to the warmth the bed and her husband offered.

“You’re crying?” he observed.

“I’m so ashamed. I feel weak with this airsickness. I don’t understand it either. I’ve never been airsick before and I’m only sick in the morning.” She sat up on her cot crossing her legs, keeping the blankets wrapped around herself. She was considering her symptoms – all of her symptoms.

“You know . . .” she began slowly. “This might all be something else.”

“What else could it be?” he asked blandly.

She blushed. “I missed my last bleeding time.” She gave him a weak smile. “Of course, I’ve done that before when I was under stress.” _It had always surprised Belle as to how comfortable her husband was with her moon cycles. The man would often spoon with her, keeping his warm hand on her stomach and helping with any discomfort she might be experiencing._

“Well, before you were a pure maiden, my dear. But for this last time,” he stroked her hair, “well, now you are a grown woman, with a husband who has regularly enjoyed your favors.”

Belle considered. She knew from her work with Avonlea’s old healer that women who were in the family way often experienced upset stomach and often in the morning.

_She’d also been fatigued, and her appetite had picked up._

She looked at her husband. “Do you think . . . is it possible . . .?”

He waited. _This was a wife’s privilege to tell her husband._

“I could be carrying our child?” she finished, asking him The Question.

“If that turns out to be true, I would have you know that I would be very, very happy,” he assured her. Rumple was surprised when fresh tears filled his wife’s deep blue eyes and spilled over.

“A baby?” she said. “I could be going to have our baby.”

“Are you all right with that?”

She sniffed. “Of course. I’m crying now because I’m sooo happy.”

“Oh,” he said, relieved.

“What do I need to do now?” she asked him

He pulled her against him. “With my first wife, we found a qualified healer who could advise us along the way. I suspect some of your friends, like Lady Mary Margaret, could suggest someone to you.”

“I like the young doctor who’s come to Avonlea, Doctor Hopper. I think I could trust his advice.”

“Then, we’ll go see Doctor Hopper as soon as all of this is over.”

Belle sniffed. “I suppose . . .” she began slowly. “I suppose, knowing what we know now, I probably shouldn’t have insisted on coming with you . . . but I really didn’t know . . . when I was insisting . . . on coming with you.”

“Well, I should have taken Jefferson’s advice and tied you up and left you where you would have been found, but I took you at your word that you’d hire a ship and chase after me. You are a very determined young woman.”

“Maybe too determined for my own good,” she admitted, and then she looked up at him. “I really want to be a good mother to our child, Rumple.”

“I know you do. And you will be. I’m sure of it,” he gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Stay here and I’ll have breakfast sent in. I need to go out and check on our progress.”

She watched as he pulled on his boots and slipped on a heavy coat and some gloves. Belle wasn’t sure how long she was going to manage staying alone and quiet in the cabin. As much as she enjoyed reading, Rumple’s books weren’t all that interesting and there was next to nothing else to do now that she had thoroughly explored the cabin.

Oh, she was bored.

Keeping a couple of blankets wrapped around herself, she padded over to one of the portholes and looked out. She could see blue sky above and around them but beneath them was a dark, black rolling cloud, one that glowed from time to time – _lightning, she thought_. They had risen above the storm, but it was still an active threat.

 

Rumple was now on deck with Jefferson and Grumwald.

“This is a bad storm. Wonder if Killian was able to rise above it or if he’s down there fighting it?” Rumple mused.

“It is pretty bad – a lot of lightning. That can seriously damage a canopy. We’ve been keeping lookout up here and haven’t spotted him,” Grumwald told him.

“How is everyone doing?” Rumple asked. He’d taken his share of the piloting duties, making his way across the icy deck and standing in the rumbling darkness, riding above the fierce storm wailing underneath them.

“Fine. Most reporting dizziness, but that is to be expected. Everyone knows the protocol and we’ve kept warm and safe,” Jefferson told him. “How is the Lady Belle?”

Rumple didn’t answer immediately. “Well enough. I’ve asked her to remain in the cabin . . . for safety reasons.”

“Really?” Jefferson asked. “You don’t think that’s a bit harsh – like you’re confining her to quarters?”

“It’s for her safety,” Rumple insisted.

He caught Grumwald and Jefferson looking at each other.

“Really, it’s for her safety,” he repeated.

“Do you really think she’s safer in your cabin than anywhere else on the ship?” Grumwald asked him.

“Are you sure you aren’t doing this because . . . maybe . . . you didn’t want her to come along and you regret giving in and now . . . this is how you deal with it?” Jefferson pressed him.

“No, I really think my cabin is the safest place for her,” Rumple was sticking to his story.

The other two men shrugged. “If you insist,” Jefferson told him.

“Are you sure we’re not seeing anything – out there?” Rumple asked changing the subject. “No sign at all of the _Excaliber_?”

Grumwald was scanning the horizon with an eyeglass. “I’m not seeing anything.”

“You know who’s really good at spotting things?” Jefferson asked.

“Oh yes,” Grumwald answered. “Lady Stiltskin. Several times I’ve flown with her and she’s picked out a ship long before anyone else on board spotted it.”

“Yes, I remember that time, the first time I flew with her on the S _oumak,_ she spotted the _Dark Wind,_ ” Jefferson said.

“She’s really very good. I’ve told her that if she ever needs a job, I’d hire her to be a lookout,” Grumwald shared.

The three men stood for a long moment. No one said anything. No one looked at Rumple.

“All right,” Rumple relented. “I’ll see if she’ll come out and help with the lookout chores.” He reluctantly returned to the cabin, coming out a few minutes later followed by an eager Belle.

She was still a bit queasy, but anxious to help in any way she could.

“This will just be for a little while,” he cautioned her. “I thought you could use some fresh air.” He stood for a moment while she took some deep breaths of the thin, cold air.

“It is refreshing,” she told him.

He tried to sound off-handed, “So, do you see anything – out there?”

She scanned the horizon, turning around slowly. “No. Not even birds.”

Rumple watched the glow return to her face as she stood on deck. _Maybe he was confining her to quarters – she really wasn’t any safer there than she would be anywhere else on the ship. But . . . the woman was a loose cannon. She was headstrong and foolhardy and . . . unpredictable. And, he couldn’t help himself. Finding out that he was likely about to become a father for the second time -- and the father of this woman’s child -- it had ignited all of his protective tendencies. He wanted to take care of her, keep her safe. Having her on a warship about to go into battle didn’t fit in with those desires whatsoever._

But, here she was. He couldn’t exactly stop and drop her off somewhere. Even if he could, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t go.

No, he would have to make the best of things, do what he could with what he had to work with.

“Belle,” he began slowly. “Grumwald tells me that you have proven yourself a capable lookout . . . on several occasions.”

“All I do is look and sometimes I see things,” she answered him, still scanning the horizon.

“Why don’t I have you up here, outside, several times during the day and you give the sky a once over? It will get you out of the cabin for some fresh air and . . . well, it could prove useful, if you do spot another ship.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she turned and threw her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you. I was getting a bit stir-crazy in that cabin. That would be perfect.”

Jefferson and Grumwald looked on as Rumple slowly unwound his wife from himself. “I’m glad you . . . you’re all right with this,” he managed to tell her, glancing at his men who both immediately looked away.

“I’ll be ever so careful, I promise,” she told him.

“All right then, Missy,” Grumwald began. “We don’t have the lookout on the pole when we’re flying high. It’s not safe with the ice and the thin air. You’ll stand here,” he pointed to a place at the top of the steering dais.

She nodded and dutifully went to the dais, the highest point on the contiguous deck. She began looking around, taking her job seriously.

“If you start getting too cold, if you get dizzy, you need to tell the pilot and he will help you back to the cabin. If you spot something you need to immediately tell the pilot,” Rumple continued with his instructions. She nodded somberly as he spoke.

“Yes sir,” she answered.

Rumple managed to step away from his wife, knowing that Grumwald would watch over her. Jefferson followed him and the two men returned to Rumple’s cabin.

“That was kind of you,” Jefferson said. “And she really is probably the best lookout on the ship.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rumple replied glumly. “And . . . uh . . . she is suspecting that she’s in the family way.”

“I told you, she’s a smart woman.”

“Too smart for me, I think,” Rumple shared.

“Oh yes, absolutely. What she sees in you . . . other than your immense wealth and power . . . I don’t know.”

“She tells me she’s in love with me.”

“Ha! Nice,” Jefferson told him. “I think she is. Otherwise, I can’t imagine that she would be putting up with you. You’re autocratic and dictatorial and often self-absorbed.”

“Thank you. I like you too,” Rumple replied. He poured himself and Jefferson some of his finest. The two men sat and drank for a moment before Rumple spoke again, “I’m concerned.”

Jefferson sat down and took a drink. “Me too. I don’t know that we’re going to catch up with Killian in time. And even if we do, are we going to be able to take him out without causing a lot of destruction, even loss of life? If we start firing cannon at each other over a populated area – that’s a disaster for those folk on the ground.” He looked up at Rumple. “So, what is your plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT:   
> The "Dark Wind" catches up with the "Excaliber."  
> Belle proves to be invaluable.  
> (What we’ve been waiting for) Rumple confronts Killian.


	18. Love, Loss, and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Wind catches up with the Excaliber  
> Belle proves to be invaluable.  
> (What we’ve been waiting for) Rumple confronts Killian.

“So, what’s your plan?” Jefferson pressed him.

Rumple hesitated. “I’ve got a couple of things going on. Some things -- I hope -- will happen on the ground and . . . well, of course, some things, I hope, will happen up here.” He turned to look at his friend with a slight smile on his face. “Do you remember those canisters you were able to put together?”

“The ones with Sleepy Dust in them?” Jefferson remembered working with the dangerous chemical powder.

“The same,” Rumple confirmed.

“What? Those were for crowd control. What are you thinking?”

“If I can somehow get them aboard the _Excaliber_ . . .”

“Then, the crew would go down. We could board the ship without a shot being fired and take them down.” Jefferson nodded. “But now, the big question -- how do we get those canisters aboard the ship?”

“That’s what I’m working on,” Rumple told him.

**The Lookout**

Belle stood on the high dais. She was ecstatic. _She was helping._ She wasn’t being a burden. She wasn’t getting in the way.

However, she was also still bored.

There was only so much staring off into the horizon a person could do without getting really bored.

But Rumple and all his men were depending on her, so she persevered. Nevertheless, she was relieved when Rumple came up to tell her that her four hours were up.

He escorted her back to the cabin and insisted _actually, more likely, exerted his position as her husband and commanded_ she take a lunch break, then lie down.

Rumple went back out and kept watch not only on the horizon but on the clouds below them, looking for something -- anything that would tell him that the storm was passed and it was all right to descend. The thin, frigid air was wearing on his crew and himself and he was worried the impact it might have on his wife and unborn child; _although, he thought that now that she had realized her condition, his delightfully pert, opinionated wife was a bit more circumspect._

Oh, he could only hope that their child would inherit her strength of character, her determination, her energy. He stopped a moment.

_Their child._

He thought his heart might burst. Even with everything else going on, he realized he was happier than he had ever been before.

**Understandings**

It was late afternoon when, after consulting with Grumwald, Rumple felt comfortable giving the ‘descend’ order. The ship was immediately immersed into the clouds, no longer the black thunderclouds of the storm but white-gray misty clouds.

It was evening when the ship emerged from the clouds. Rumple had returned to the cabin so that he and Belle could share a quick supper together.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked, eating quickly -- obviously getting ready to head back out to the bridge.

“I am. Thank you for allowing me to help, Rumple. I know you want to keep me safe and . . . I . . . I’m really trying to be more . . . careful.”

He stopped and came back to take her hands and look into her eyes. “It’s hard for me, Belle. I think of you as this precious, fragile thing that I should take care of – that I want to take care of. I have to remind myself that you are this dynamic, independent woman who can take care of herself. I am trying to respect you . . . but I still want to take care of you.”

“Rumple,” she began, slowly. “I’m not offended by you wanting to take care of me.” She dropped her eyes. “Sometimes, I think I may need taking care of. And I like that you want to take care of me. It’s one of the ways you show me that you love me. I understand that. I know that you also want to take care of our child and  . . . well, that’s wonderful.”

“Thank you,” he told her. “You understand me. That is such a gift. You . . .” he stopped, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “You are everything to me. I can’t imagine my life without you. And now, now that we believe there is a child – I . . . Belle, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“And,” she stood to give him a hug before he went out the door. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Rumple nodded. He understood. _He was just as important to her as she was to him._

_It was a strange feeling._

_A strange and wonderful feeling._

_No one . . . no one had ever cared about him. He had never been important to anyone. Never . . . not before his Belle._

**Concerns**

Left alone in the cabin, Belle gave herself another minimal sponge bath, using a spit of water and Rumple’s spicy soap. She then took herself onto bed. She knew that tomorrow, one way or another, things would happen.

If Killian succeeded in his plan, he would kill the Emperor and his would-be wife. Killian would then move to arrest Stiltskin as the Dark One, blaming him for the attacks on the capital. She suspected that if Killian were successful, then her husband would take his airship and head north to Arendale or east to Agrabah.

But . . . there was still a chance for them to take Killian down. If they could intercept Killian before he got to the royal palace, if they could beat him in an air fight before he deployed the iron bomb . . . . They had a chance. She really felt they had a chance.

But Belle was also worried. If they got into an air fight above a populated area – cannon could fall onto houses, jetsam blown from ships could fall onto people . . . it could kill a lot of people.

She was very worried.

She did not remember Rumple coming back to bed that night. She had put the chamber pot next to the bed, prepared for the morning nausea. Sure enough, upon waking, she had put it to good use, chewing on the crackers that she found next to her. She thought it likely that he’d come in for a few hours but had risen early to keep watch on the bridge.

She pushed herself up, forcing herself to get up. She wanted to go out to check on things on the bridge, but the morning vomiting stopped her.

“Little man, you are making your mother miserable,” she admonished her unborn child. _She, of course, wasn’t sure that it was a boy – she just had this feeling._

**The _Excaliber_**  

On deck, a tired Rumple stood with Jefferson and Grumwald.

“You see it?” he asked.

They were now floating above the outskirts of the northern section of Hadensberg, the huge capital city. They could see streets and houses and, in the distance, the palace itself.

As the sun had risen, illuminating the white houses of the city and the green parks around the palace, they were all able to see another dark airship – the _Excaliber._ They didn’t need Belle’s eyes to identify the other ship.

“Yeah, but we’re not close enough to be able to use the cannon,” Grumwald said.

“No, we’re not,” Rumple had to agree. “And, even if we were able to hit their canopy, they would still have time to deploy the weapon.”

“As it is, whether we fire or not, they will still have time to deploy the weapon,” Jefferson observed glumly.

“If only . . .” Rumple began, and the other two men looked at him. He finished his thought. “Could one of our gauss rifles propel those sleep canisters over there?” he asked.

Jefferson looked at the canisters. “The gauss rifles? Possibly,” he said slowly. “Their range is considerably greater than the cannon. But it would take someone with the eyes of an eagle.”

“Who had nerves of steel,” Grumwald added.

“And who was a crack shot,” Rumple finished up.

The three men stood quietly for a moment looking across the horizon at the enemy ship.

No one said anything.

No one moved.

They stood peering at the _Excaliber_.

“Well, are you gonna see if she’s up for it?” Grumwald finally asked.

Rumple sighed. “I guess so.” He sighed again. “Gentlemen, excuse me, while I go and fetch my wife.

**Belle’s Task**

“You want me to do what?” Belle asked him. She was still in the throes of airsickness . . . no . . . morning sickness, retching into the chamber pot.

“I want you to fire some canisters onto the _Excaliber.”_

“And these canisters contain some type of sleeping potion – the same stuff you hit me with back at Dark Castle?” Belle asked, struggling to understand.

“Exactly. When I was originally researching the Fairy Dust, I stumbled on this other interesting substance that produced sleep.”

“That’s the stuff that knocked me out for . . . how long?”

“Nearly an hour – of course, you got a good dose, a direct hit,” he told her.

“And you’ve got this dust stuffed into some canisters? And you want me to shoot them . . . using a gauss rifle . . . onto the deck of the _Excaliber_?” she clarified the job he had proposed to her.

“That will give us time to catch up and we can board the ship, subdue the crew, retrieve the iron bomb and  . . . live happily ever after,” he confirmed for her.

Belle retched one more time.

“When you board the ship, you won’t succumb to the sleeping dust?” she asked when she had recovered.

“When we board the _Excaliber,_ we can wear masks that the Oznians developed so their people could pick the poppy and not get overcome with the out-gassing. It’s a mask that looks like a monkey face. I picked up some on one of my visits, along with their remarkable hovercrafts, and Jefferson did some upgrades. I’ve got about twenty of them.”

“I’m familiar with them,” she told him.

“Really? How? Those masks are a state secret.” He was interested in how she’d obtained this particular bit of information.

“Brother John . . . he was one of the people I stayed with when I was making my way back to Dark Castle – he talked about the masks . . . and the hoverboards. Oh, and you mentioned them when you were telling me about why Zelena was a threat to the empire.”

“Oh, right you are . . . good enough.” _He’d forgotten that. And forgotten that this woman had a knack for finding out sensitive information._

“All right now. Give me a moment,” she told him, wiping her mouth and standing up. “I think I’ll be all right.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Take me to the bridge.”

Rumple led his wife up to the steering platform where Grumwald and Jefferson had loaded two rifles with the canisters. They had other canisters standing by.

“Can you see where you need to aim them?” Rumple asked her.

Belle stood on the bridge on the same elevated box she had used when she worked the lookout’s job. “Sure. It’s a far piece. Will these weapons reach that far?” she asked.

“Will do,” Rumple assured her.

“Then, let’s have at it,” and Belle held out her hand for one of the rifles.

She stood a moment.

“Is it too far away?” Jefferson asked.

“Too windy?” Grumwald asked.

“Too hard?” Rumple asked.

“Too noisy,” Belle told them sternly. “With a shot this difficult, I have to shoot between heartbeats or my hand will jerk, and it will throw off my aim.” She glared at the men who nodded guiltily and stood by quietly.

It was a moment later when Belle took a shot.

“Darn,” she said. “This rifle pulls left. Let me try again.” She held out her hand for a second rifle, even while Jefferson re-loaded the first rifle.

This time they stood by quietly while she aimed and took her shot.

“That went right on deck. Good job,” she complimented herself. She took back the first rifle which Grumwald had re-loaded.

She took a shot.

“Oh, that one went through a door, maybe into some sleeping quarters?” she remarked.

Rumple looked through a spyglass. He could see Killian’s crew scurrying about and then several of them began to drop. Soon enough all of the crew were slipping down to the deck. “It’s working. Keep going,” he ordered.

Belle took a third shot, then a fourth, a fifth and a sixth.

Rumple could see that there was chaos on the _Excaliber._   Crew was rushing to the deck and promptly slipping down. Belle was continuing to pepper the ship, hitting different parts of the vessel with the sleep-canisters.

The _Excaliber_ had begun to drift.

The _Dark Wind_ was rapidly catching up. They were now within cannon range. They were above a dense residential area, a place where all manner of families lived, some in their large city estates near the palace proper, but also smaller houses where servants and merchants lived.

Rumple made the decision. No reason to use the cannons. They were going to board that ship.

They were closing in fast.

Watching through the spyglass, however, he saw something that chilled his blood.

It was someone wearing one of the Monkey Masks. It was a tall man, dressed entirely in black.

And he was carrying something.

“Belle, can you see anyone moving on deck?” he asked urgently.

Belle squinted. “Yes, I see a little movement. A man in black. Is he . . . he’s carrying something!” she told him.

Rumple stood frozen. “It’s Killian. He’s got the bomb! He’s going to drop it!”

All eyes on deck turned in shock toward the _Excaliber._

They saw it. They all saw it.

Something small was thrown from the deck of the _Excaliber._

.

.

.

The next moment, an enormous explosion filled the sky, a loud boom, then bright orange flames and multiple plumes of black smoke with spewing sprays of golden sparks. From their vantage, they could see parts of the _Excaliber_ had been blown away.

“Damn. That took too long. I’d set it to detonate as soon as he threw the switch,” Jefferson muttered. “Never did get that on-switch to work right.”

Rumple scowled at his friend, “The mad scientist strikes again.”

“But this is good, right?” Belle asked. “The bomb detonated before it hit the ground.”

“There will still be fires from it,” Jefferson told her.

And they could see cinders dropping from the explosion area, sailing to the ground and landing on rooftops, on the street, on the ground. Fires were flaring up. They could also see that now the _Excaliber_ itself had caught fire, small flames latching onto the deck and the running lines.

Belle was looking down at the ground. “Where are all the people?” she asked. “We should be seeing people in the streets.”

Rumple glanced down. “Oh good . . . so that message got through,” he said as much to himself as to Belle.

“What message?” she asked.

“Later,” he told her, and he turned away from her. “Get us up to speed, Grumpy,” Rumple told the _Dark Wind’s_ captain. “We’ve got to get on board and try to save those men.”

Grumwald nodded and, now with the _Excaliber_ drifting, they were able to gain air quickly, closing the distance between the two ships.

Rumple was already standing on the deck railing, a launch rope in hand, ready to swing over. Belle hesitated, but she had to speak.

“You’re going over there?” she asked.

“There are men who will die if we don’t get them off. I know they’re likely criminals, but they’re still men. Some are most certainly brigands, but others may have been tricked or coerced into following Killian.” He paused and stepped down from the railing to look Belle directly in the eyes. “I can’t just sail away.” He kissed her lightly. “Belle, please, this is a job I’ve been working on for nearly ten years. I’ve got to see it through. I’ve got to try to find Killian and bring him to justice.”

She nodded, closing her eyes. “I know. Be careful. I love you.”

“I will be careful . . . and I love you, too,” he told her, giving her another quick kiss and pulling himself back up onto the railing.

“We’ll be able to attach, but we won’t be able to manage long. It will start to pull us down. And if that fire reaches the canopy, we’ll have to move away fast – if that balloon explodes, it could catch us on fire,” Grumwald warned Rumple even as the man prepared to launch himself on to the deck of the listing airship.

“I understand.” Rumple put on one of the Monkey Masks and using judgment gained from long experience, he timed his swing. He leapt off the railing, propelling himself across the void. He dropped onto the deck of the damaged _Excaliber._

He was followed shortly by Jefferson and several of his men – all wearing their Monkey Masks. They began to search the ship for the crew, all of whom were now subdued by the Sleepy Dust. Soon enough, Rumple’s crew were harnessing the sleeping _Excaliber_ crew into ropes and sending them swinging over to the _Dark Wind._ The fallen crew were carried down to the ship’s brig and locked away.

Rumple was helping with finding crew members and would call out to his own people as he stumbled on one or more of the men who had worked on the _Excaliber_. He made his way to the front of the ship, now briskly burning away, black, acrid smoke rising as the fires burned wood and tar. He was searching for Killian.

He stopped and removed the Mask, testing the air. The Sleepy Dust had dissipated or been blown away by the explosion.

The air was safe to breathe. 

“Killian,” he called out. “I know you survived the blast. But your ship is going down.”

He waited, hoping to hear a response.

“Killian?” _Perhaps the man had been knocked unconscious by the blast._

Rumple stood precariously on the now open, furiously burning foredeck. He wasn’t able to go any further forward, much of the front of the ship having been destroyed in the blast of the iron bomb, the rest now on fire. If Killian was lying unconscious he might be beyond saving. Rumple was taking one last look when he heard a small noise behind him. He turned . . . just in time to see a sword slashing down. He ducked and rolled away.

“Killian!” he called out to the now bedraggled Duke, covered in black ashes, his right hand now bleeding. The mask he’d worn for protection had been blown away and his formerly handsome face was now covered with burns and soot. Rumple was able to maneuver himself upright and pulled his own weapon.

“Killian, you don’t have a chance against me,” Rumple warned the man.

“Oh, I’m not planning on beating you,” Killian grunted out through clenched teeth. “I just plan on taking you down with me.” The Duke advanced on Rumple, swashing his sword back and forth, driving Rumple ever toward the ever-disintegrating front of the ship.

“Rumple.” It was Jefferson calling out to him. “We’ve gotten everyone off. Grumpy is signaling that we have to detach.”

Rumple glanced over at his own ship, looking at a tiny figure standing next to the railing.

“Go ahead. Get back over. Do what you have to do,” he ordered, trying to circle around Killian.

“Rumple, the ropes are starting to burn,” Jefferson shouted out even as he prepared to be the last of the _Dark Wind’s_ crew to leave the _Excaliber_.

“I understand. When I finish up here, I’ll signal Grumwald to get close enough for me to swing over. But for now, you get back over to _Dark Wind_. That’s an order,” Rumple shouted back, not taking his eyes off of his opponent.

**On the Deck of the _Dark Wind_**

From the railing, Belle had watched, watching as the sleeping crew of the _Excaliber_ were sent over, watching as the remnants of the _Dark Wind’s_ crew returned, and watching as Jefferson made his swing back across, dropping onto the deck of the _Dark Wind._

_Where was Rumple?_

She heard Jefferson give the order to Grumwald to separate the ships.

“Nooo,” she cried running at the man. “Rumple’s still over there.”

Jefferson grabbed her by the arms, holding on to her. “Belle, we can’t stay attached. The _Excaliber_ will drag us down as she tumbles. Rumple gave me the order to leave him.” He hesitated, “He’s confronting Killian. When he . . . when he finishes, he’ll signal us to swing back in, so he can return.”

She broke away from him, but Jefferson was right behind her, stopping her from trying to swing over to the disabled, burning ship.

“Belle, I can’t let you go over there.”

“But, I . . . I . . .” she floundered.

Jefferson lowered his voice, “Belle, I know about your baby. Think of your child, his child. He wouldn’t want you to risk the baby. _You. . ._ you don’t want to risk the baby.”

Belle closed her eyes. She knew tears were seeping out and she leaned into the comfort of her old friend’s arms.

“Let him do what he has to do, Belle. I know this is hard.” Jefferson did his best to comfort her.

**Confrontation**

Rumple was slowly attempting to circle around Killian, trying to distract him so that he could get Killian between the gaping hole in the front of the burning ship and himself. Right now, Rumple was the one trapped between the open deck and the crazed, determined Duke.

“Always the hero, to the last,” Killian sneered. “With any luck, when this ship goes down, she’ll take out much of the city.”

“Perhaps, but one of the last things I did before I left Brookstry for Dark Castle was to send a message to the Emperor suggesting he have the place evacuated and fire crews put on alert. There are several emergency service squads down there, putting out the fires, but everyone else should be gone.”

Killian stood a moment, glancing down at the city. They were close now, closer than they had been when Killian had dropped the bomb. “What? There’s no one there?” he asked.

“Look down. Do you see a lot of people in the streets? There’re just fire, police, some military, probably some medical personnel in town – that’s all that’s left in this part of the city.”

“So even if the bomb had gone down . . .” Killian seemed shaken that his plans had been subverted even before he had dropped the bomb.

Rumple finished Killian’s remark, “Even if the bomb had gone down as you intended, there would have been damage to property, but probably no lives lost – certainly you wouldn’t have killed the Emperor or Zelena. I’d advised them to retreat to Brookstry.”

“Always one step ahead,” Killian remarked. “You were always such a goddamn pain in the arse.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, so were you. Killian,” Rumple softened his voice. “Why? You had property, wealth, power – everything a man might want. Why . . . this?”

“I didn’t have everything,” Killian told him. “Milah . . . you know how she is. She’s always wanting more, much more. Nothing else but having everything would satisfy her. And I got where I wanted it too. I wanted _everything_. _”_

Rumple frowned. “Well, no wonder you’re disappointed. Nobody gets everything.”

“You do. You’ve got the most power, the most money, the most property, the prettiest wife. And you don’t answer to anyone. Hell, even the Emperor’s scared of you.”

“None of that’s of any use right now. In case you haven’t noticed,” Rumple waved his hands expressively, “we’re on a sinking ship. She’s listing and beginning to drop. Soon she’ll be falling, falling out of the sky and we’ll hit the ground hard – that is, if the canopy doesn’t catch fire and explode first.”

“As long as I take you with me.”

“Well, hell,” Rumple said, running his hand through his hair. His back still to the front of the ship, he had managed to get close to the Duke. Looking behind the Duke, he saw one of the main masts beginning to crumble. It fell in a loud, splintering crash, momentarily distracting Killian. Rumple took the anticipated opportunity and rushed around the man even as the very deck he’d been standing broke away from the _Excaliber_.  And now, the deck began to tilt, lapsing into a steep slant, sending unsecured materials rushing past the two men.

His feet coming out from under him, Killian grabbed at a piece of intact railing, but it gave way and he continued to slide, his feet going out and beyond what was left of the solid floor of the deck. But . . . the railing Killian was clutching caught. It wedged between the edge of the lookout dais and the steering post. It stopped him from falling from the ship.

“This is insanity, Killian. You don’t have to die.” Rumple was gingerly making his way back down the dangerously slanting deck reaching for the Duke. “Let me help you. I can pull you back.”  He reached out to grasp Killian, ready to pull him up, away from the edge.

And . . .  for a moment . . .  it appeared as if Killian was going to reach for him, reach to take his hand.

**On Board the _Dark Wind_**

Belle watched helplessly as more and more of the _Excaliber_ went up in flames. She saw the front of the ship break off and then gasped when the ship tilted, tipping forward, flotsam rushing toward the gaping hole and falling off and down to the ground.

It was then she saw, with her sharp, bright eyes she saw it, a body, _someone,_ fell from the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Ah, what happens next? Indeed, what does happen next?  
> A.N. This is my first foray into serious action/adventure writing. I’ve felt it is an area of weakness and I wrote/re-wrote the battle sequence countless times hoping to help the reader visualize what I saw in my own head as happening, and, especially, struggling to get the pacing right. Hope it went well enough. Thx all -twyla


	19. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens next.

Belle could not look away. She had just seen someone fall, a man, likely one dressed in black. He’d fallen, flailing, from the front of the burning ship. But, even her eyes were not good enough to determine if it was Killian or her Rumple.

She watched as more and more of the _Excaliber_ crumbled away, great flaming chunks of the ship breaking off and falling to the ground. Even from the distance, she could hear wood breaking away, creaking, awful tearing sounds as the ship surrendered more of its body to the inevitable.

She could see now that what was left of the great ship had begun to enter a slow decline, drifting down, down to the ground, flames engulfing the once proud vessel.

The fire had made its way up the rigging ropes and was now lapping around the canopy. She knew, she didn’t have to wait for Jefferson or Grumwald to tell her, it was only a matter of time before the gas inside the balloon heated up to a critical point and exploded.

She stood on the deck of the _Dark Wind_ leaning into Jefferson who seemed as distraught as she was.

“He ordered us off, Miss Belle,” her husband’s friend told her. “He had to finish what he had started. Please don’t think, don’t ever think, that I wanted to leave him.”

“I know you didn’t, Jefferson,” Belle sniffed. She realized she had tears running down her face. She wiped them off. “If that was Killian that fell . . . well, then Rumple’s still on that ship . . . if he is . . . does he have any chance? Is there any way he can get off that ship?” She had to know.

“He’s a survivor, Miss Belle. He’s come through situations far worse than this.”

“But how? If he’s on a sinking ship that’s about to blow up? If he’s not killed by a hard landing, then he’s likely to be incinerated when that canopy blows up.”

And, as if on cue, the canopy ignited. There was a thunderous boom and the sky was filled with a huge, enormous orange fireball. The heat from the explosion closed on them quickly and she shut her eyes and held her breath as a hot wave full of sparks and sprays of fire and spurs of burning gas washed over them.

Belle nearly collapsed, not wanting to see the catastrophe unfolding before her, knowing what it had to mean for her husband.

Rumple had no chance.

There was no way he could survive this.

She had turned to Jefferson and found herself sobbing into his chest.

_Her Rumple was gone._

.

.

.

“Belle.”

She dimly heard Jefferson call her name. She knew she would have to pull herself together. Rumple had accomplished his mission, even if he had died in the final effort. Eventually, she would have to accept that her husband had died. He’d died a hero, avenging many, many people, saving countless people . . . but he had died, nonetheless.

“Belle,” Jefferson was more insistent this time. “Look.”

He softly turned her around.

She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It . . . it appeared to be something . . . a man? . . . a man floating, moving through the air, hovering awkwardly, making his way toward them in jerking, clumsy movements. There was smoke clearly coming from the man as if his clothes were on fire.

“Rumple!”

He was . . .  he was flying! – but, how?

She abruptly realized that he was on one of the little Oznian hoverboards. She’d never seen one before, but Rumple was balanced, albeit poorly balanced, all too precariously to her mind, on the small device, zooming across the sky, coming at them.

Coming in fast.

No one had to give the order. Grumwald had turned the _Dark Wind_ around, the ship running at full speed back toward the flying man who was rapidly closing on them.

Rumple didn’t slow down as he approached the ship. She watched as he waved them out of the way.

“I don’t know how to stop this damn thing!” he shouted and he slammed into the deck, the front edge of the hoverboard embedding in the deck floor and, the force of the abrupt stop throwing his body forward, face first.

As Belle ran to him, she could see that his feet were still attached to boots that were evidently part of the hoverboard. He had pitched forward, his body twisted at an odd angle and his clothes smoking. In some places, his clothes were on fire.

Jefferson with his long legs reached him first.

“I told you that you needed to practice on one of these. You never know, when you might need to ride one,” Jefferson scolded him. “But nooo, you told me only an idiot or the truly desperate would try to pilot one of these.” Even as he talked, Jefferson was busy using his jacket to beat out the flames.

Belle and Grumwald arrived next and began the ginger job of disengaging Rumple from the hovercraft’s boots. Rumple groaned when they tried to shift his right leg.

“Oh dear. I think he may have broken his leg.” Belle couldn’t tell for sure. She ran her hands down his leg and it seemed to be intact. He was quiet until she touched his knee when he groaned. Her first thought was that he’d landed on his knee – the same knee that had been damaged so long ago.

She thought it likely that he had shattered the joint.

“Killian went over th’ side,” he said gasped out. “I tried, but . . . I . . . I couldn’t save him.”

“As it worked out, you barely saved yourself,” Jefferson told him.

“I foun’ the ‘overcraff,” Rumple speech was slurred and he winced as Jefferson and Grumwald managed to lift him to carry him back to his cabin. Rumple continued, “I thought . . . if Killian had one o’ th’ masks, he might have one . . . o’ th’ ‘over . . . craffs. I . . . knew . . . I  . . . had to . . . I had to . . . move fast.”

“Rumple, darling, just rest,” Belle told him once he’d been laid down onto the cot. “You can tell us all about it later.”

He managed to focus his eyes on her. “I think . . . I think I breeeved in sum firer. It ‘urts to breeve.”

“Likely so,” she agreed. _He would have almost certainly breathed in some of the hot gas from the exploding ship._ “That’s why you need to rest.”

_She abruptly realized that she had left her apothecary items back at Dark Castle. She knew exactly where she had left them – on the kitchen table. Why, why hadn’t she brought them with her?_

Jefferson had pulled out a knife and, glancing at Belle, he began to cut off Rumple’s clothing. As his jacket, vest and shirt were peeled off, it was apparent that there were several burns. When he was turned over so that Jefferson could remove the remnants of the garments, Belle sucked in air. There were burn blisters on his back and arms. Rumple was left lying on his stomach.

“I need some water,” Belle told the men. “We need to cool down these burns.” She looked up at them. “Do you have anything like willow bark on board that I could make a tea for him to drink. Or anything like numbweed?”

“I’ll go check,” Grumwald told her and hurried out of the room.

Jefferson was already getting her some water, using a couple of glasses to bring it over to the resting man. Meanwhile, Belle picked up one of Rumple’s fine lawn shirts, tearing it into sections. She soaked the fabric in the water and then laid them on the burns. He groaned and she winced at having to hurt the man even while she was helping him.

His pants were still on and Belle realized that she hadn’t the courage to remove them so that she could look at his knee.

Grumwald came back in with some ointment that he said would serve like numbweed. He also let her know that the cook would be bringing them some willow bark tea as soon as he could heat it up.

Belle began to gently put on the ointment, hoping it would help relieve some of the pain. Rumple cried out as she touched some of the particularly raw places.

“I’ll be okay,” he muttered. “I jus’ need t’ rest fur a while.”

Belle looked at Jefferson who was watching her, waiting to see if there was any way he could be helpful.

“Do we still have some of that sleeping dust?” she asked him.

“We do.” He nodded, understanding. “I’ll fetch some.”

“I wuss afraid, Belle. I wuss . . .  afraid . . . I wouldn’t make it back t’ you . . .  t’ you an’ th’ baby. I thought I’d failed you,” Rumple was still murmuring.

“You didn’t fail me, darling. But now, lie quiet. We have to get you better.”

Jefferson had returned. He had one of the canisters and carefully opened it, revealing the glittering gray dust. “I’d suggest you just throw a handful onto his face. He’ll breathe it in and he’ll go out.”

Belle nodded. “Actually, I know, first-hand, how it works,” she said perhaps a trifle acerbically.  But, as directed, sprinkled the dust over her husband’s face. She was gratified that he stopped thrashing around and went limp, his breathing now slow and even.

Belle turned to the two men. “We need to get him to a hospital. This is beyond my skills. I’m concerned about the burns, if he’s breathed in some of the flames and . . . I’m very concerned about what may have happened with his knee.”

“There’s a nice facility near Brookstry. There should be some doctors there. We can let him down on a gurney.” Grumwald suggested. “It’ll take us a couple of hours to get there.”

“I’m sure you’ll get us there as quickly as you can. I’ve always been able to depend on you,” Belle smiled at the grumpy captain.

 

**The Hospital**

Belle had been at the hospital now for several days. It was a very nice facility, with quiet, competent doctors, sympathetic healers, and capable assistants. They had given him a large room, complete with a small beige sofa, two chairs upholstered with a serviceable sturdy green fabric, a plain wooden chair and a plain wooden table set in front of one of two large windows.  

Rumple’s burns had been treated and he was healing nicely from these.

“He might have a few scars, but these should fade in time.”

They were giving him breathing treatments to help his lungs heal and these were also going well.

“He’ll have problems catching his breath for a while, but with time, this will get better.”

They had been less optimistic about his knee.

“It was badly damaged, Lady Stiltskin,” the doctor had told her. “He may always have a limp and some pain from the injury.”

Belle understood. She understood that she was lucky to have him back with her at all, in any condition.

She had settled in at the hospital, leaving her husband’s side only to eat, wash and use the necessary. Jefferson had kindly brought her clothing, some lady’s garments instead of the trousers and shirts she’d been wearing aboard the _Dark Wind_ (which she realized had scandalized hospital staff).

Jefferson had also brought her a selection of books and she’d been reading these to her recovering husband. When he slept, she sat at the little table writing letters to family and friends. She let her father know about his impending grandparent status and, in another letter to Mrs. Potts, Belle let her know that she was thrilled with the notion of a wedding between her father and the Dark Castle housekeeper. She wrote Mary Margaret, letting her know of the pregnancy. She wrote Emma, asking her to tell Bae about his father’s situation.

Rumple often seemed weak, taking long naps, but she could tell that he was getting stronger every day, so she was hoping his recovery was just a matter of time. Her own morning sickness was persisting, but she had learned from one of the doctors that the sickness signaled a healthy baby and, also, that she should be getting better when her pregnancy passed the third month. She counted up and thought she should be well able to manage another five or so weeks of sickness, especially if it meant she had would bare a healthy child.

She was sitting by her husband’s bed in one of the cushy green chairs. It was late afternoon and she had dozed off with a book in her lap. She heard someone stirring in the room and pulled herself awake. There was a man in the room, a rather plain looking individual, likely about her husband’s age. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and basic black pants. She thought he might be a hospital worker, although he wasn’t wearing the typical green hospital garb.  

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Lady Stiltskin,” the man apologized.

“I’m fine,” she told him. _He knew who she was._ “I just dozed off.”

“Understandable. This room is damnably warm. I’m just here to check on your husband. How is he doing?”

Belle wasn’t sure who this man was. _Was he a business acquaintance of her husband? A friend?_

_Or could he be some follower of Killian, someone who had benefited from the drug trade perhaps bent on revenge? Could he be dangerous?_

She felt her thigh. She had her pistol, freshly loaded with two new bullets.

“He’s fine,” she responded standing up to put herself between the man and her husband.

“I’d heard he’d smashed his knee and, this time, it probably won’t heal up. I know that limp he’d had was a sham, but it sounds like he may be left with a real one now.”

“You know that?” _Who was this man?_

“Yes. I’ve known your husband for, oh my, I guess about thirty years. We went to boarding school together, St. Trinian’s – actually roomed together for several years there. We became . . . good friends – both of us had family problems, neither one of us could go home for holidays. We kept in touch after school. He’s always been one of the few men I’ve felt I could trust.”

“Is that right?” _Belle was increasingly curious. This man did seem to know her husband . . . but she still couldn’t tell what his motives might be._

“Shame he couldn’t get Killian back to stand trial. Killian’s death has left us with rather a mess. His dukedom is a large area and . . . well, I’m afraid, he neglected his people. I’d been hoping Rumple would be available to help get things straightened out, but now . . . I guess, we’ll have to see.”

The man gave her a small smile and a gracious nod and left, leaving Belle still wondering who he was.

Over the next two weeks, Rumple began to recover his strength and now he was rapidly gaining the reputation of being a difficult patient. He was impatient and often uncooperative. He frequently snapped at staff. He expressed on-going dissatisfaction with the food. He typically ignored restrictions on his activity. He complained continually.

“I want to go home, back to Dark Castle . . . or, at least, Brookstry,” he told her one afternoon. She’d been asked to try to get him into one of the wheeled chairs and then take him out of doors for fresh air, but he’d refused. He didn’t want to be seen in a wheelchair.

“The doctors are still working to heal you,” she reminded him. “I know it’s difficult, but I don’t think it will be much longer. You’re a bit better every day.”

Rumple huffed and settled down, but he was clearly not happy. He had managed, with a cane assist, to get himself from his bed to one of the cushiony green chairs and was now sitting next to the window. He’d been exercising his knee, activities that the doctors had assured him would help him heal (but which he complained weren’t doing a damn thing except causing him pain). Belle was sitting next to him reading when the plainly dressed man that had visited earlier came in.

“Master Stiltskin, Lady Belle, good to see you both up and around,” he addressed them both.

“Belle told me you had been by to visit me earlier, but I wasn’t in any shape to receive visitors,” Rumple addressed the man with a head nod.

“You were still pretty under the weather,” the man agreed.

“Belle, would you go down to the hospital’s food service center and bring us back some nice tea?” Rumple asked her.

_He was getting rid of her._ “Of course,” she agreed and stepped out. Now her curiosity was consuming her. Her husband obviously knew this man – perhaps, as the man had told her, they had been roommates at school. Rumple also obviously wanted to talk with him in private.

Belle knew that, in time, Rumple would tell her everything. But, in the meantime, she would have to wonder what was happening.

By now Belle was on first name terms with the kitchen staff, knowing not only their names but the names of their spouses and their children. At her request, the staff graciously provided her with some lovely hot tea and cups, along with some sweet cinnamon scones the cook agreed to part with. She returned to Rumple’s room in about twenty minutes pushing a cart and found the two men chatting like old friends. She poured the tea, served the scones, and sat back on the little beige sofa.

The visitor suddenly focused on her.

The intensity of his staring made her nervous.

“You’re making my wife nervous,” Rumple told him.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that she was the nervous type. Everything I’ve heard about her would suggest she is one of the least nervous people I might meet,” the man told him. “I’m mean, I heard that she jumped from a moving airship, that she shot the Dark One, that she was able to hit the Excaliber from god-knows-what distance, peppering the deck with your sleepy dust concoction. That doesn’t sound like a nervous type of female.”

“She is remarkable,” Rumple agreed. “But she is always rather curious and if she doesn’t get her curiosity satisfied, she becomes  . . . agitated.”

“Please, gentlemen, I’m sitting right here,” Belle told them.

The man smiled at her. “You are quite correct. Very rude and impertinent of us.” He turned to Rumple, “I like her. She’s a very good match for you.”

“She is much more than I ever anticipated. I have certainly come to appreciate her,” Rumple agreed.

“I’m glad I suggested you contact her father and propose,” the visitor told Rumple.

“Well, I would have gotten around to it, eventually,” Rumple grumbled.

_Wait! Belle thought, this man was behind Rumple’s marriage proposal?_

The man smiled at him and shared more with Belle. “I thought your husband was the most clever individual that I had ever met when our paths first crossed. I did everything I could to be sure he played on my team. I did get distressed when his first marriage fell apart – everyone saw it coming, but him. I thought I might have lost him when that trollop left him, but he did eventually pull it back together. And then, of course, he married you -- such an improvement.”

“I’ve no complaints,” she told the visitor.

The man continued. “Of course, all along, he really needed to get access to those poppy fields in Avonlea – so he could shut them down, you know. It was starting to fall apart, despite everything Maurice, your father, had done. We knew that airships were already making quick runs over the fields, dropping harvesters and taking off. It helped that I had a bit of a dossier on you. You’re a lot like your mother.”

“You knew my mother?” she asked surprised.

“I almost married her, but then she met your father and threw me over. I guess she liked older men,” the man explained.

“Like mother, like daughter,” she heard Rumple murmur.

“That’s why I was completely sure your father wasn’t dealing Fairy Dust – Colette would have never tolerated such behavior. And she would have never fallen in love with a man who could do such a thing,” the man shared. “It wasn’t just access to the poppy fields. I really thought you’d be good for Stiltskin here – keep him on the straight and narrow.”

“And that, she has,” Rumple confirmed.

“Well, glad to see you two getting on. I suspect they’ll be releasing you shortly.” The man stood up.

“Are you still at Brookstry?” Rumple asked him as the man prepared to leave.

“Sadly yes. We had quite of bit of damage from Killian’s attack, but, fortunately, because of your warning, no deaths, no real injuries for that matter. Your estate is lovely but, I’m afraid, my wife-to-be is terrorizing your staff and they’ll be glad to see us go.”

“I understand.”

“I do thank you for everything. Think about my offer, please. I’ll need an answer soon.” The man gave a nod to Belle and left.

Belle kept quiet for almost thirty seconds before she barraged Rumple with questions. “Who _is_ that man? What offer? And why is he staying at Brookstry?” She might have continued had Rumple not held up his hand, stopping her.

He gave her a gentle smile. “I would have thought you would have figured it all out by now.”

Belle sat back. “He said you two had a lot in common. That you ended up as roommates at boarding school. That he trusted you. He also seemed to know a lot about both of us, including all the Fairy Dust and the Archduke Killian debacle.” She thought it through. _There was only one person that might . . . maybe . . ._ “Is he . . . no . . . he wouldn’t be coming to see you.”

“Ah, my lovely, brave and brilliant Belle. He is who you think he is. That man is his Imperial Highness, the Emperor Haden the Third.”

“Oh my, it really didn’t occur to me. And I was, oh goodness, I was perhaps disrespectful to him,” Belle suddenly realized. “That first time he came, I thought he might be trying to hurt you. I was preparing to shoot him if he got too close!”

“It’s all right. You didn’t shoot him. And he likes you. He likes strong, sassy women.”

“I’m strong and sassy?”

“Very much so,” Rumple confirmed.

“And you two are friends?”

“Well, perhaps as much as an emperor can have friends, he counts me as one. We were at school together and discovered we had a lot in common. We ended up rooming together for four years. You find out a lot about a person when you live with them.”

“He told me he trusted you.”

Rumple nodded. “I guess, yes, I think he does.”

“So, was he just here as a friend? And is he staying at Brookstry? And what offer?”

“He was here to check on me, yes, that was part of it. And yes, he is staying at Brookstry, along with his very demanding wife-to-be, the Oznian Over-Witch Zelena, who I’m sure is making everyone’s life absolutely miserable.”

“And the offer?”

“He’s come through with something I wasn’t sure he would.” Rumple took a bite of a scone. “You know, it’s something that has bothered me, gotten in my way, in fact, one of the reasons I married you. I don’t have a title. And I’ve always been at a disadvantage not having a title.” He took a sip of his tea. “He’s offered me a title.”

“What title?” Belle asked.

Rumple sat still a moment. “He’s offered me Killian’s duchy, along with the title of Archduke. Belle, that would elevate me to be in line for the throne should some unprecedented disaster befall the royal family. My children . . . our children . . . would be in line for the throne should Haden fail to produce an heir with his Oznian witch,” Rumple told her quietly.

“Archduke?” Belle repeated numbly.

“Two years ago, I would have taken his offer without a second thought.”

“But now?” Belle questioned him.

“I’m not so sure that this is what I want.”

Belle nodded. “Then tell me, darling, what is it you do want?”

When her husband didn’t answer immediately she looked up at him and saw that he was staring past her shoulder, at the door of the room.

She turned and saw a young man, standing hesitantly at the door.

“Bae,” she heard Rumple say. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Rumple ponders his choices and, once he decides, has to deal with the consequences.


	20. Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple ponders his choices (Sorry, he doesn’t quite get to making his choice in this chapter – he gets a little distracted).

Belle rose and welcomed the tall, dark-haired young man into the room. _So this was Bae, Rumple’s son and Emma’s husband._

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll see if I can’t find something more . . . interesting for you gentlemen to drink,” Belle said with a gracious smile as she prepared to leave the room. _These two needed some time alone together._

“Belle, you don’t have to go,” Rumple almost seemed panicked at the idea of being left with his estranged son.

“You two will be just fine,” she assured him and, making sure that Bae did come into the room and take a seat, she scurried out.

Belle knew that for the alternate libation she wanted to procure, the kitchen staff might or might not be able to help. She certainly wasn’t looking for regulation hospital fare. She made her way down to the kitchens, mulling over the different employees, trying to decide who would be most likely to help her out.

She nearly walked into a wiry man who was skirting along the edge of the hallway. She recognized him as the hospital’s Apothecarian, Master Plunkett, if she remembered his name correctly. She had chatted with him when Rumple had first come to the facility and knew he was a very knowledgeable man – as well as being a very nice man.

“My dear Lady Stiltskin. You appear to be looking for something,” he said kindly.

“Yes, sir. Perhaps you can help me or . . . failing that, suggest someone else who can.”

“Of course, what can I help you with?”

Belle shared her problem.

**Conversation**

“Emma . . . uh . . . suggested . . . that I needed to come and see you,” Bae said nervously, taking a seat in the other green chair.

“She must have found out that I was in the hospital,” Rumple replied.

“Your Lady Stiltskin wrote her.”

“Ah.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Actually, Emma kind of insisted I come to see you,” Bae explained.

“You do what she tells you to?”

“Oh god yes. Emma can be a little scary.”

Rumple nodded. “I understand,” he replied. After a moment he added, “My Lady Belle can be a little scary too.”

More silence.

“You know I never . . . I always wanted to be involved in your life.”

Bae nodded. “Mother always told me that you didn’t want to have anything to do with me, that you had insisted that I wasn’t your son.”

Rumple winced and shook his head. “Please know, please, I never, ever . . . I did want to be a part of your life . . . I never said you weren’t mine.”

Bae nodded again. “I understand. As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that Mother usually – always -- had her own agenda and . . . she tended to bend the truth to her own ends.”

“I sent you Birthing Day presents and Solstice presents. Did you get any of them?”

This time Bae shook his head. “Not until I was away at college and you sent them directly to me. I . . . confess I felt your gesture was ‘too little, too late’ and I gave them away.”

“I understand. I guess from your perspective I had ignored you for more than a decade and then suddenly I’m sending you presents – like I was trying to buy your affection,” Rumple realized.

They sat in silence again.

“Jones, the Archduke, did provide me with a good education. I got to go to all the nice schools, had the best tutors, nicest clothes.”

“So, he was good to you?” Rumple asked.

Bae hesitated. “He never abused me – in any manner. But I never got the sense that he liked me or cared about me – no bedtime stories or anything like that. I was well aware that he was only nice to me because he was trying to please my mother.”

Rumple sighed. “Perhaps, perhaps I should have tried harder to get custody of you. But courts did not rule in favor of fathers very often and I was only a tradesman and I didn’t have the resources to come up against someone in the Archduke’s position.”

“I guess, we both missed some opportunities,” Bae pointed out.

Rumple closed his eyes. “I guess.”

There was more silence between the men.

“I’ve been working in the I-2 program,” Bae shared.

“Imperial Intelligence?” Rumple translated.

Bae nodded. “Yeah, I was collecting data on the Dark One. Thought for a while that it might be you, but, I understand, that, now, we’re to believe that the Archduke was this pirate, as well as the man behind the majority of the drug trafficking.”

“Is that right?” Rumple said neutrally.

 “Yeah. That’s the official story we’ve been given.”

“What do you think?” Rumple asked his son.

Bae looked at his father. “I think that you may have been masquerading as this Dark One, perhaps working under secret orders from the Emperor himself . . . and this Dark One, rather than being behind the drug trade, was actually trying to find out who was the mastermind and may have been trying to stop it.”

Rumple nodded, “Interesting theory.”

“It would explain why you were chasing Killian in your own black vessel and was willing to risk your life to take him down.”

Rumple nodded again. “It would.”

Again, the two men sat in silence.

Bae broke the silence again. “Emma tells me that if you were the monster I was raised to believe you were, that Belle wouldn’t be in love with you.”

Rumple smiled. “I’m liking your Emma more and more.”

The door to the room opened and Belle returned. She smiled, “Gentlemen. I thought you could use something stronger than tea to drink.” And she held up a bottle filled with amber liquid.

“Where’d you find this?” Rumple asked her, watching as she poured two glasses and handed them off.

“A very sweet man, the hospital Apothecarian, Master Plunkett. This is part of his personal stash. He mentioned something about this being payback?” Belle shared her conversation with her husband.

Rumple sampled the liquor. He took a deep breath. “Plunkett? I know this man – he tried to rob me in my carriage a while ago. Instead, we ended up talking and I found out he was a University trained apothecarian, but he’d fallen on hard times, lost his job, lost his family. I arranged for him to get this job. Glad to know he’s doing well. I’ll be happy to send the man a dozen bottles as a thank you for this. This is excellent.”

Bae drank and nodded his agreement. “It is very good. I’d agree. Thank you.”

“How is Emma?” Belle sat on the beige sofa and addressed Bae.

“Fine. She sends her best greetings to you and hopes you’re getting along well,” Bae told her.

Belle smiled, “Oh yes. Thank you.” She looked back and forth between the two men. “And how are you two getting along?” she asked pointedly.

Neither one replied immediately. Rumple finally cleared his throat, “We’re talking.”

“Good,” she smiled brilliantly. “That’s a start.”

Bae had to agree. “It is. I grew up being told things about my father, which I have . . . I have recently come to question.”

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t always the man you see before you now. I did . . . uh . . . I was involved with some questionable activities.” Rumple admitted. “I didn’t always make the best choices. I wasn’t the best husband – that’s for sure.”

“But, I think, that perhaps my mother wasn’t the best wife,” Bae observed.

Rumple took another drink. “I wasn’t what she wanted. I don’t know if that was my fault or her fault . . . or perhaps, no one’s fault.”

Bae shrugged and took another drink himself. “You’re a big hero at the moment. What’s next for you?”

“I don’t know. I have been given a lot to think about,” Rumple admitted. “I do know that I won’t be making any decisions on my own.” He looked over to Belle and gave her a small smile.

Bae followed his father’s eyes and he also smiled. “Perhaps . . . if you like . . . we could . . . maybe . . . occasionally . . . share a meal . . . or a drink?”

Rumple turned his attention back to his son. “I would like that. Very much.”

Bae stood, “I guess, I need to be going.” He headed for the door, “You do know that you have a grandson?” Bae shared.

“I do,” Rumple nodded.

“And . . . Emma is . . . uh . . .” Bae fumbled for words as he stood at the door.

“I’m to be a grandfather again?” Rumple guessed.

Bae nodded. “Yeah, yeah. We’re very happy about it.”

“And I’m so glad to hear this news,” Rumple shared.

Belle was up and had come over to stand by her husband. “We are very happy for you two,” she said. “I’ll let Emma know when your father is released and where we go from here.”

“Thank you, Lady Stiltskin.”

“Belle, please, call me Belle.”

Bae hesitated, “All right, Belle. Thank you . . . for everything.” Bae gave her a nod and left them.

“Well, that was nice,” she told her husband and sat down in the same green chair that Bae had just vacated.

Rumple stared at her a moment. “You arranged for this, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” she replied. “I did write Emma and let her know what all had been going on with you and that you were hospitalized. But that was all.”

“Well, apparently, Emma decided that her husband, my son, needed to come and see his father.”

“Well, of course, he did. This estrangement between you two has been going on for far too long and for no good reason, except that you were both too stubborn to make the first move,” Belle insisted.

“It was more than just that,” Rumple protested.

Belle raised her eyebrows. “I understand that Bae’s mother filled his head with nonsense. But he’s a smart man. He’s certainly realized by now that his mother had her own reasons for saying the things she did about you and he’s had plenty of time to be able to make his own judgments.”

“Maybe . . .” Rumple agreed reluctantly.

“And you could have reached out to him any number of times these past few years . . .” she continued. She narrowed her eyes at him, “Stubborn . . . both of you.”

“Maybe,” Rumple repeated himself, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“This time, at least, I’ll think you’ll be invited to this new baby’s Naming Ceremony,” she concluded. “Now, darling. You were about to tell me that you aren’t sure about accepting the Archduke’s position. What are you thinking about doing?”

Rumple poured himself a third drink. He didn’t answer immediately, instead savoring the fine whiskey Belle had brought him. “I’ve missed this. And I’m probably over-doing it.”

Belle waited, knowing he was trying to prepare his thoughts.

He took a deep breath. “Before I met you,” he began slowly, “all I ever wanted was a title and all the power and the wealth that went with it.”

He paused, and she waited. “I recognize now that taking on Killian’s duchy is going to be a monumental task. He has allowed the land to deteriorate. He’s not kept up with roads or schools or even basic judicial responsibilities – criminals are running all over the duchy, preying on honest people. He’s over-taxed his people, especially the poor, while allowing his rich friends to skip paying anything. They’re not going to be happy when whoever is in charge starts asking them to contribute their fair share. It’s going to be months, perhaps years, of work to return some semblance of normal functioning.”

“It does sound like a lot of work. So, what were you thinking of doing instead?” Belle asked.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Selfishly, I was thinking of retiring, perhaps selling off a couple of my businesses. I have plenty of money. I think I’d like to live in the country, perhaps at Dark Castle, with my lovely wife. Visit with my father-in-law on occasion. I’d like to have just a whole passel of children and watch them grow up, happy and healthy. Maybe I’d even have a little rose garden I could piddle around in. Just live out a simple, ordinary life.”

Belle sat silently. “Certainly, a quiet retirement has its merits. Of course, I would forever be wondering what was happening over in the Duchy.” She looked at him speculatively, “Is there anyone who can restore it to peace and prosperity?”

Rumple drained his glass. “You think Haden has asked me to do this, take over the Duchy, because I’m the only one who can do the job?”

“Who else would you suggest, if not you?”

Rumple furrowed his brow. “There’s . . . uh . . . uh . . . well, perhaps . . . uhm . . . .”

Belle continued waiting.

He frowned and huffed. “I’d have to think a bit. I’m sure there are some other suitable candidates.”

“Of course,” she agreed. She waited a moment. “Of course, this would be a wonderful opportunity for you to do some of those things you’ve always wanted to do – turn over some of that power to an elected populace. Let the people make their own laws that they want to be governed by.”

“It’s a daunting task though. Now that I’m faced with it – it’s overwhelming,” he admitted.

“So, you get some people to help you.” Belle rose to stand behind him and began massaging his shoulders. “I met several lovely people when I was in the Duke’s territory who would do well in any number of positions of authority. The farmer who helped me had been a magistrate until Killian had removed him from his position. By all accounts he’d been good at his job – perhaps he could help with returning law and order to the place. And the hermit I met, Brother John, a wise man, gave excellent advice. He might be willing to serve as a judge, at least for a while. I’m sure both of them could suggest some other people to help out.” She stopped and looked down at him. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

“You’re telling me that I need to accept the appointment?” he asked her.

“No, I’m just saying there are some things you would be able to do that you’ve been telling me you want to do. Although,” she allowed her fingers to trail down his neck, “I have to agree, the whole rose garden and a passel of children ideas sound perfectly lovely.”

He caught her fingers in his own hand. He looked up at her. “I’ve not been a very attentive husband recently, have I?”

“You’ve had good reasons. You’ve been healing.”

“I think I’m much better now.”

Belle had run her other hand, her fingers through his hair. “What are you suggesting?”

“Come around,” he directed her, and she walked around to the front of the chair. He put his hands on her hips, running them down her thighs and back up to her waist. His brown eyes had softened, a gentle, focused look, and she shivered – she knew well what this particular expression meant for her.

“Are we . . . are we in a good place?” he asked, his hands resting on her waist.

“I think so. We’re talking. We’re listening,” she told him, reaching down to rest her hands on his forearms.

“I would agree,” he murmured. His hands slipped down and he began to lift up her skirts, sliding his hands up her legs. The silky material fell down around his arms, even as he worked his hands up her thighs. She closed her eyes, relaxing into the man, feeling his hands on her hips, slipping under her lacy panties to explore the contours of her bottom. He then pulled the panties down, off her hips and down her legs, leaving her exposed and open.

“Come, sit on me,” he ordered, helping her to lift up her skirts so they pooled around her waist. She ended up with her knees on both sides of his lap. He pulled her head down and kissed her, slowly, leisurely, one hand now on the back of her head, holding her still. She melted into him, enjoying his lips working against hers, nudging her mouth open.

With his other hand, he was fumbling with the tie on his hospital pajama pants.

He pulled his mouth away from her for a moment. “Lift up. Set yourself down on me.”

She wiggled, her tender thighs finding his hot, stiff cock and centering herself, she slid down onto him.

It had been weeks and she relished how good it felt. She liked how he groaned when she lifted herself only to drop down again.

“Slow, let’s take this slow,” he gritted out. He managed to put his hands back onto her waist, controlling her actions, slowing her down.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and continued lifting herself and dropping down, savoring his length and strength. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She felt his lips on her chest, on the base of her neck, his breath hot and warm. She knew he was lifting himself as he could, coming up as she dropped down. _They always had such good rhythm together._

It was indeed slow going. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, but Belle soon felt a sense of franticness. She was close, so close, but what she was seeking was just out of reach. He seemed to realize that she was having difficulties and he dropped a hand between them, his fingers teasing and stimulating her. He began moving faster and that seemed to help. He felt her nails on his neck, digging in, likely drawing blood, even as she stilled for that brief moment right before she surrendered herself. She cried out and he felt her convulsing, her snug inner walls tightening, caressing him and that was enough for him, tipping him over as he released himself into her.

She collapsed on him, her breathing hard and fast. She might have fallen asleep for a moment . . . or he might have. He didn’t know how long they rested, clinging to each other. He stirred first, “Belle. Belle, my sweet.”

“Hmmm?” she moved just a little. “Yeah. Oh,” she sat up. “That was wonderful.” She was still sitting on him, her knees resting against his thighs. “I guess, I need to get up.”

“It’s all right if you want to stay and snuggle for a while,” he told her. He took a deep breath, his nose against her neck. “I love how you smell. It’s different now – perhaps because of the baby?” he speculated. “And I like how you feel sitting on my lap.”

“I like how you smell too. And I like sitting on your lap. I always feel safe with you, you know that?” She became serious. “There was a moment, when the _Excaliber_ blew up, that I thought I’d lost you and . . . it was just awful. I was . . . devastated, numb. I couldn’t even . . . imagine how I would go on . . . what I would tell our child. I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”

He listened, his hands trailing up her back. “What kept me going, after Killian went over the edge . . . what kept me going was not wanting to leave you and our child. I knew I _had_ to find some way off that ship. I couldn’t give up. You, the thought of you, and our child, gave me the energy, the strength that I needed to keep going, to search the ship and . . . the courage to get on that damn hoverboard and jump off into thin air.”

“You are the bravest man I know,” she told him.

“My bravery is nothing to yours,” he said. “You married a man you didn’t know. I could have turned out to be abusive, cruel. I could have forced myself on you, beat you.”

Belle nodded and answered him slowly. “You had given your word that you would help my people. And the one thing that everyone said about you, the one thing they agreed on, was that you always kept your word. I thought it was worth the risk.”

“You’re amazing,” he told her.

“You’re wonderful,” she told him. She shifted off her husband, getting to her feet. “Have you made a decision on the duchy versus retirement? I’ll support either decision, you have to know that.”

“So, no help from you, then? I’ll, at least, need to sleep on it. It’s good to know that you’re on my side.”

There was a discrete knock on the door. Belle answered it and it was a hospital worker with a message.

She turned back to her husband. “There’s a woman who wants to see you. She says her name is the Archduchess of Killian.”

Rumple sighed, “Oh damnation. It’s Milah. What does she want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Rumple confronts Milah. Rumple makes his decision.


	21. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milah and Rumple have a nice chat.  
> Rumple makes his decision.

“Milah?” Belle repeated. She was very concerned. “What do you want to do? See her? Tell her to go away? I’ll tell her to go away -- that you are still too injured to be disturbed.”

Belle was pacing. Rumple had not seen his wife angry before but thought likely that this was what he was looking at now. Her voice had risen, even as her pacing had quickened. Her colored had heightened, her eyes were flashing. _She was like a tigress protecting her cub, preparing to come to his defense._

“Belle, darling,” he called her attention back to him. “I do need to go ahead and see Milah.” He spoke softly, determinedly.

“I don’t want her in here upsetting you. You’ve made wonderful progress and, I know, you feel strong, but you’re really still recuperating. And I don’t want any setbacks.” She was indeed, very angry.

“I think I can manage talking with my former wife,” he assured her.

“I’ll be right here then, by your side,” she promised him.

“No, no, you won’t,” he told her. “I don’t want you here when that harpy comes in.”

“But . . .” began Belle.

“Belle,” he interrupted sternly. “I have never demanded obedience from you, and I’m not starting now. But I _am_ asking you, please, if you love me, please trust me on this. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in the same room as that woman. I’d prefer you not even be in the same building.”

She bit her lip considering her husband’s request. _He was trying to protect her._

“You know I want to be here. I don’t want her to say . . . or do . . . anything that might hurt you,” she told him quietly.

“I do understand. And thank you. I’ve never had anybody try and protect me,” he assured her. “Belle, I promise you. I can take care of myself. At least, I’m certain I can handle Milah.”

Belle thought a moment and nodded. “All right then. I’ll go down to the hospital cafeteria and get us some tea and a light supper. I’ll give you thirty minutes. I’ll come back with food . . . and my gun,” she gave him a warm kiss. “I’ll tell the attendant to send her in.”

Rumple waited, perhaps a little nervous, less sure of himself than he had led his wife to believe. He had not seen Milah in years. He had heard about her plenty -- her comings and goings, her buying sprees, her partying excesses, her sexual escapades. Somehow it had given him some strange sense of satisfaction that she had begun to step out on Killian – the man she had left him for had also proven to be unsatisfying.

When Milah stepped through the door, he caught his breath -- she was still beautiful -- dark lustrous hair, a lush figure, an attitude of confidence and sexuality. But, as he looked closer, he could see some things, subtle, small things, things that alarmed him.

“Milah, forgive me if I don’t rise,” he said, motioning to his knee.

“Did you kill him?” she asked.

“I _am_ recovering, yes,” he answered.

“Did you kill him?” she repeated.

“They haven’t told me when I will be released, but I think, soon,” he said.

“You aren’t answering my question,” she complained.

“You came to visit with an injured man. You aren’t asking the right questions,” he corrected her. “But, no, I didn’t kill him. I risked my own life to try to save his sorry arse. That’s how I ended up here.”

She glared at him and walked around the room, examining things idly. “I hear the Emperor has offered you his duchy,” she finally said.

“He has.”

“That’s what you wanted all along, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve schemed and worked for.”

“You’ll be surprised to learn that I’m not sure I’ll be accepting the offer.”

Milah stood still a moment, obviously stunned. “What?” She sat down across from him. “I would have thought you would have jumped for it.”

He nodded, “A year ago, yes. You would have been right. But now, I have other things that seem more important.”

She sneered, “It’s that young wife of yours, isn’t it? I hear she’s pretty enough if you like them farm-raised.”

“Maybe I’m just tired of all the cheating and subterfuge and playing all the games.”

“You! Hah! You invented most of the games. You thrived on the games – all the deal-making and clever little tricks you played.”

“I’m a changed man,” he informed her.

“I don’t believe it.” Milah sat back digging in her reticule and pulling out a cigarette. She lit it and took a long drag on it. “I bet that she’s been telling you that you can’t do the job, hasn’t she? She doesn’t share your vision, doesn’t have your drive. She’s dragging you down. At least, I never did that with you. I was always pushing you for more.” Milah looked around and saw the whiskey Belle had brought in for her husband and his son to share. She got up and poured herself a glass. “One for you?”

“No, I’ve had enough for today,” he replied, noticing some tell-tale yellowing around her fingernails. It matched the yellowing of her eyes that he had spotted earlier.

She shrugged and sat back down again. From this vantage, he could see that she had pinpoint pupils. There were fine lines around her eyes and mouth.

“Milah, why are you here?” he asked point-blank.

“I was wondering what your plans were for me . . . assuming you would take over the Duchy.”

“Of course, it’s about you,” he muttered to himself. “I truly haven’t thought that far ahead, even assuming I would take over. I’ve thought about accepting the position and handing off the administrative duties to Bae – as Killian’s step-son he has a claim on the estate.”

“I doubt he’d be interested,” Milah told him. “Bae is more of a thinker than either of us. Not so much interested in getting his hands dirty or dealing with people for that matter.”

“Killian left a mess, you know that?” Rumple asked her.

“No,” she shrugged it off. “I know he didn’t care about all the boring stuff. He cared more about his horses, his gaming, his swordplay, even the ladies. Those other things were unimportant to him.”

Rumple watched her, nervous hand movements, fidgeting feet. “If it’s worrying you, I will make sure that you’re not tossed out onto the street. You’re the mother of my son and I will accord you the respect that position merits.” He was speaking softly. “You will be allowed a stipend, probably less, a lot less, than what you’re used to. Of course, the title is no longer yours to claim. I would suggest that you might consider retiring to some place where Killian’s activities are less well-known. There are several lovely islands off the Duchy that would provide you a more than comfortable living.”

“Go into exile in some backwater country? I think I’d rather die.”

“When more and more people realize that Killian was behind the drug trafficking, you will likely become a target,” he warned her. “People might want to hurt you.”

“Really?” She hadn’t thought of this.

“You should probably move out of your home immediately. Pack your things, get your jewelry, your furs, whatever you can carry. You have a friend you can move in with?”

“Hell no,” she told him tartly. “My so-called friends disappeared after Killian’s fall from grace.”

“Then try Gothel. She’ll be able to find a place for you to stay and keep you safe while you decide where you want to go permanently. Oh yes, I assume you know where your husband stashed his drug money. I would suggest you let the authorities know – you can let me know if you trust me enough.”

Milah rolled her eyes.

“Under no circumstances should you attempt to pull out any of this money,” he warned her. “You’re being watched and if you try to use the money, you could be held complicit in your husband’s crimes and prosecuted. If, however, you turn it in, you would be seen as a wife who was honoring her husband, villain though he might have been, but now with his death, you want to do the right thing and divest yourself of his dirty money.”

Milah stood. “So, you’re telling me the title’s gone, the money’s gone, the house is gone. How do I know you aren’t lying to me – telling me these horrible things so I’ll go away and quit bothering you?”

He shook his head. “I’m being honest with you, very honest. You’ll have to decide if you want to take my advice or not.”

She stood silently.

“Milah,” he was hesitant. “You’re using Sand, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” she replied quickly.

“You have yellowing around your nails and in your eyes. It’s beginning to take a toll. I could . . . I could offer you some help with it.”

“What? You’d lock me away in some asylum setting? Like I’d ever get out if you ever got me in such a place.”

“Sand will kill you, Milah,” he warned her. “If it doesn’t do it outright, it will sap your funds and will put you out on the street where you won’t last a winter. I’m trying to help you.”

Milah snorted. “No, thank you. I know how your father ended up and I’ll not be another person that you make disappear.”

“My father is sick in his head and he thinks he’s eleven years old. He’s also homicidal. The asylum keeps him safe and us safe from him. Milah, I’m making the treatment offer to help you,” he persisted. “You have so much to live for. You’re still a beautiful woman. I know I wasn’t the man for you and, apparently, neither was Killian, but maybe, probably, there is someone out there for you. Get yourself clean. If not for yourself, for your son.”

“Fuck you, you arrogant prick,” Milah told him. “I’ll have you know that I’m handling the Sand. I can walk away anytime I want. I don’t need you on my back about it.”

He sighed. “Well, if you change your mind, the offer still stands. Don’t barter your life for your pride,” he told her.

_But, looking at her, he couldn’t help but relive his last moments with Killian – when he was reaching out to the man, offering a chance at life, but the man was just determined to die._

_He felt he was at the same point with his former wife._

She laughed and poured herself a second drink which she quickly gulped. “Listen, when you get ass-numbingly bored of your little farm-girl . . . and you will, give me a call. I might just throw you one, for old times’ sake.”

“I won’t get tired of my wife,” he notified Milah. “She is my soul-mate. She understands me, she supports me, and she loves me. I work hard every day to be worthy of her. I’m deeply in love with her.”

Milah snorted and made a gagging sound. “My god, she’s completely gelded you! You probably let her know when you’ll be late for supper and ask her permission to fart.”

Rumple smiled, “She’s a real lady, Milah. I don’t know that you would understand.” He cleared his throat. “I think we’ve said all that we need to say to each other. Call on Gothel. Let her know I suggested it if you want. If you ever get to the point that you realize you need help with your drug habit, let me know, and I’ll make arrangements.” He looked away from her. “You can go now.”

“You think you can just dismiss me?” she protested.

“It wouldn’t take much effort on my part to have you arrested. Leave with what little dignity you have,” he warned her.

Milah stood a moment, apparently debating her choices and opted to head for the door. “You know,” she turned back to him before stepping out. “Your little farm-girl is right. You don’t have the balls to handle Killian’s estate. Better you run and hide in some outlying estate. You’ve lost your magic and need to retire, go out to pasture, piddle around in some little rose garden.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and left him.

He sat considering what she had said and began to laugh.

When Belle returned pushing a cart with their suppers, she was surprised to find her husband in a pleasant mood. She had been dreading that she would find him sullen and angry. To instead find him smiling and happy was most unexpected.

“The cook had some lovely beef stew. It’s got potatoes and carrots, all in a lovely thick broth. And there’s some fresh baked bread and freshly churned butter. Of course, there’s also tea,” she told him. She served him a deep bowl of stew and handed it off to him. Hesitantly she asked, “How did it go?” She poured him some tea.

“Better than I expected. I’m almost feeling sorry for her.”

“What? This is the woman who cheated on her marriage vows, did everything she could to turn her child against his father . . .”

He interrupted, “She’s addicted to Sand.”

Belle sat down. “What does that mean?”

“Sand is a derivative of Fairy Dust. It’s darker in color and the crystals are bigger – hence the name. The effects are probably twenty times as strong. It gives the user a profound feeling of euphoria as if they are floating and invincible. It takes away all pain, all anxiety, all distress. But it’s seriously addictive and there are brutal side effects. At first, there’s some yellowing of the fingertips, the whites of the eyes, but quickly the teeth begin to rot, the appetite wanes and there is significant weight loss.”

“Will she die?” Belle asked.

“I offered her treatment, but she refused. If she continues to refuse help, then, yes, she will die. We won’t be able to save her, bring her back.”

“Why would anyone use such a drug?”

“Who knows. Perhaps their lives are so painfully miserable that they need it to make them feel better, so they can function on some level. Perhaps, they think they’re special, that somehow, they won’t get addicted – that, or perhaps they just don’t give a fuck. Maybe . . . maybe she wants to die.”

“Oh, Rumple,” Belle laid her hand on his arm.

“I suggested she turn to Gothel. I think she, in some odd way, trusts Gothel and, if anyone can help Milah, it just might be her.”

Belle sat quietly a moment. “You and this Gothel. You have a special relationship?”

He smiled, “One of your ‘hundreds of questions’ huh?” He didn’t respond immediately. “Gothel came to me as a pregnant fifteen-year-old. She came from a good family, but they had turned her out when her condition became evident. She had no resources, no skills. She was willing to sell herself to me for food.”

“My goodness,” Belle said under her breath.

“Gothel also told me who the father of her child was.”

Belle sat up, things suddenly falling together for her. “Killian?!”

He nodded. “Yes. She was quite pretty and quite innocent. He’d seduced her with the promise of everlasting love and marriage – then absconded as soon as he’d had his way with her. Gothel and I made a little deal. I would take care of her, provide her with shelter, food, medical care and she would give me the baby. She didn’t want the child, so she took the offer.”

“What happened to the child?”

“Ah . . . little Alice. I knew a lovely, deserving family who desperately wanted a child. In exchange for a very favorable exclusive business contract, I arranged for them to get the baby.”

“So, she was raised in a good home.”

Rumple shook his head. “Unfortunately, the lovely family died in a tragic accident when little Alice was about eight. Alice became my ward. She’s a truly remarkable girl, bright and talented. She’s also an amazingly gifted chemist.”

“Should she inherit Killian’s duchy? I know she’s illegitimate, but if she’s his only offspring . . . ?”

“We have only Gothel’s word that Alice is Killian’s daughter,” Rumple told his wife. “It would never stand up in court, but I believe her and I do agree, Alice deserves something of Killian’s estate.”

“So, what are you thinking?” Belle asked.

Rumple took a sip of his tea and a taste of the stew. “This is good stew,” he remarked.

“You do this when you are about to share something important,” Belle complained.

“Do what?” he asked innocently.

“Deflect,” she answered promptly. “Tell me, what are you thinking.”

“I’m thinking I will accept the title of Duke.” He paused allowing this to sink in. “I can make sure Alice is taken care of. I can do those other things . . . you know, where I empower people to take charge of their own lives, restore law and order, uh, all that good stuff.”

Belle launched herself at him, hugging him around the neck. “I knew you’d make the right decision.”

He detangled himself. “That’s what you wanted all along?” he asked.

“Of course,” she told him. “So many people that you’re going to be able to help. What made you make up your mind?”

He seemed a bit embarrassed, “Milah – she told me that I had lost my magic and needed to retire, that I didn’t have the . . . uh . . . strength to tackle being a Duke.”

“So?” Belle was puzzled. “Your former wife telling you that you needed to retire – that’s what made you decide not to retire?”

“I guess. Humm,” he considered. “I guess that tells you a lot about the relationship Milah and I had.”

“I guess it does,” she agreed. “Now, what do we do first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: This little story is winding rapidly down and it's time to hand out happy endings all around.


	22. Restoration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to wind down as Rumple, with help from his Belle, embarks on the daunting task of re-energizing the run-down Duchy he’s taken on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to wind down as Rumple, with help from his Belle, embarks on the daunting task of re-energizing the run-down Duchy he’s taken on.

He had been released out of the hospital – finally. He was still having to use the cane, but the cane had been so much a part of his pre-Dark One persona that it was a small burden. His precipitous plunge onto the deck of the _Dark Wind_ had shattered his knee – again – and this time it was questionable if it would be able to repair itself. The physicians had told him that he likely would have some recovery with the use of his knee, but he would probably need to use the cane the rest of his life.

He had been trying to pull his life back together, regain some sense of routine, reestablish his business practices, and insinuate himself into the politics of the duchy that he had accepted. 

But first and foremost, he had to get back into his capital city house . . . or what was left of it. He already had an inkling of the chaos that had been left in the wake of the Imperial couple taking up residence in Brookstry and had judiciously suggested that Belle go and visit with her friend Mary Margaret before coming home.

“You think I’ll stroke if I see the damage that the Over-witch Zelena left at our house?” she had guessed.

“I do. Better that just one of us suffer than both of us,” he had suggested, and Belle, who was being unusually compliant, agreed. She had kissed him and taken a carriage ride with the ever-present, ever-protective Dove over to make an unannounced visit with her friend.

Rumple knew Haden and Zelena had vacated the place more than two weeks ago and he hoped things had been put back to rights, but knew likely that there was still residual turmoil left by the royal couple. He gingerly made his way onto his city estate.

Well, he thought, the grounds looked fair enough and the driveway which circled around to the front of the house was intact. But, when he opened the door he was met with a dark, quiet, overly-stilled atmosphere as if the house had been closed up too long. There were no fresh flowers and dust coated the banister on the staircase. He made his way down the shadowy ornate hallways and back to the kitchen where he surprised Joanna, who was sitting with her two girls having a light lunch.

“Oh, Master Stiltskin, I didn’t know you were comin’ along. Be up with you girls, we need t’ get th’ place ready.”

“No, Mistress Joanna,” he assured her. “Lady Belle and I will need a place for the night, but don’t fuss yourself with the rest of the house. I am aware of what’s been going on.”

“You know then, that mo’ than ‘alf th’ staff quit?” she asked.

“I suspected as much,” he replied. “Is Lumiere still around?”

“Yes, ‘e’s back in ‘is own quarters packin’,” Joanna offered.

“Packing?”

“Well, ‘e needs t’ be th’ one t’ tell you, I’m sure,” Joanna wasn’t willing to tell him much more.

“All right then. Please, would it be possible for you to fix me another lunch, one like you’re having? I want to see Lumiere and then I’ll be back.”

“Certainly, sir,” agreed Joanna.

Rumple made his way back to the servant quarters, a cozy part of the house. He’d always made sure that the people who worked for him had rooms that were properly heated, with windows to help keep them cool in the summer, good lighting and a few amenities. Lumiere’s room was one of the largest, as befitting his station. Rumple knocked on the door.

“Lumiere?” he called out.

The door opened and the always dapper Lumiere answered. “Oh, Master Stiltskin. I’ve been getting the reports from Lady Belle on how you’ve been doing. She thought that you would be getting released soon. You’re looking well, sir.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling a bit better.” Rumple looked past the butler into the room.

“Oh, come on in. There’s no point in keeping things a secret,” Lumiere told him and he stepped aside to allow his employer to enter.

“You’re packing up,” Rumple said the obvious. Indeed, clothes had been laid into neat piles, several of them already packed into one of two large steamer trunks. Other personal items had been set aside, likely to be stowed away later.

“Yes, sir. I need to be letting you know. I’ll be leaving your employ post haste.”

“Listen,” Rumple began to apologize. “I’m sorry if Zelena and the Emperor ran you ragged. I didn’t have anywhere else to send them . . .”

Lumiere waved him off. “That’s not it. In fact, it’s not what you think. The Over-Witch . . .  ah . . . she took a liking to me. We had a bit of a shouting match one morning when she had been rude to young Miss Susie and I informed her that someone in her station had a duty to act like a queen, not a fishwife. Apparently, that bit of backbone impressed her, and she offered me a job as her Man of Means.”

“And you accepted it?” Rumple was a bit surprised. _He could well imagine the prissy Lumiere upbraiding the slovenly Oznian witch. It might have been the first time anyone had ever dared to talk back to Zelena._

“I did. It means a lot more money, considerably more prestige – begging your pardon, this is the imperial family after all. And . . . well, I think I can get along with Lady Zelena . . . uh . . . I mean, the Over-Witch well.”

Rumple nodded, “I understand. I certainly wouldn’t want to stand in your way. Best of luck to you. But, you understand, that if for any reason this new position doesn’t work out, you can always come back to me.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” Rumple had turned to go when Lumiere cleared his throat. He stopped. “Much of the staff didn’t do so well with Miss Zelena and they quit. I told them that you would provide them references when you got back. I hope that was all right. I’ve already written them out for you to sign.”

Rumple stifled a smile, “That is quite all right. I’ll be happy to sign them. I trust your judgment and recommendations.”

Rumple returned to the kitchen and found a lunch waiting for him.

“So, he tole’ you, hey, sir?” Joanna asked.

“He did. I wished him well and good luck.”

“He’s goin’ t’ need some luck in that position,” Joanna shared.

Rumple took a bite of his sandwich. “Miss Joanna . . . and this goes for your daughters also . . . “ he began. “I want to sell this large house and get a much smaller one here in the city.”

“And you want us to go to work there?”

“Not exactly. I think you know that Mrs. Potts has accepted an offer of marriage and there is now a vacancy, actually there are now several vacancies at Dark Castle. Would you accept a position there as head housekeeper?”

“Of course, sir. I actually prefer the country life.”

The wedding plans for Mrs. Potts and his father-in-law were coming along, but, Rumple had learned from his Belle, there had been massive ripple effects from the wedding plans. It had started with the numerous trips back and forth between Dark Castle and Avonlea for the purpose of making all these arrangements. Ruby had taken to accompanying Mrs. Potts. Rumple guessed she was supposed to be acting chaperone, although he had some difficulties imagining Ruby in that particular role. However, it had gotten back that Ruby had met the young doctor Belle had told him about and a romance was ensuing. Not only that, but apparently Ruby’s younger sister, Molly, had also been visiting in Avonlea and had decided that, rather than working in the Waystation as a cook or a maid, she would rather train to become a healer. Molly had moved into a small cottage near Dr. Hopper and was working diligently on her studies.

Rumple’s plans were to spend as little time as possible in Brookstry. Relocating the remaining staff was paramount in his plans, as well as looking for a much smaller townhouse he and Belle could stay in whenever they had to come to the city. And then there was his father-in-law’s wedding coming up. All that, and hanging over him -- he wasn’t going to be able to continue to put it off – he was going to have to ride into Killian’s Duchy and deal with the responsibilities he had taken on.

He still had one more chore in town, one more duty that he couldn’t, wouldn’t want to walk away from. He welcomed Belle back home that evening, exuberant from visiting her dear friend and the two spent a close night in his bedroom. He shared with her his plan and was relieved when she told him that she thought he was doing the right thing.

It took him three days to make all the arrangements. He was sitting in his downtown offices waiting for his appointment. 

She bounced into his office, her long blonde hair unbound and falling over her shoulders. She kissed her Uncle Rumple on the cheek and plopped into one of his leather office chairs. Rumple had always liked Alice – she amazingly seemed to have inherited just the best qualities of both parents.

He was more than a little nervous. He had never been sure of himself when dealing with young women and was hoping he wouldn’t be awash in her tears or her anger when he confessed his role in her life.

He’d begun by saying he had several things to discuss with her.

“I ‘ope one of those things is that you’re goin’ to offer me a job,” she told him outright. His Alice, despite having attended a snooty, posh school, had adopted the speech patterns of those folks from the inner city – he suspected she did it as a way to rebel against the restrictions of the private school she’d been attending.

“Well, yes, there is that,” he admitted. “But there is something else, something more serious.”

Alice stopped fidgeting and waited.

“I’ve kept the information I’m about to share from you . . . uh . . . to . . . to protect you, but I now think that you’re old enough and smart enough to accept and understand why I did what I did.”

And slowly Rumple shared the story of her birth parents, downplaying Killian’s role as a cad as much as he was able. Alice listened and sighed.

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised much, although I’m a bit taken aback by just who me parents were. I mean, I knew I was an orphan and all but it’s a bit o’ a surprise to find me dad was a duke and me mom, well sounds like she was a toff to begin with even if she didn’t end up that way.”

“She was. She just made a mistake.”

“It does happen. I guess, all things considered, it could have turned out worse for me. I mean, she did end up givin’ me a nice start.” Alice sat up, “You know, I think I might like to go meet me mum.”

Rumple hesitated. “You do know what she does for a living?”

“Oh, sure. But what other options did the woman have? I mean, I guess she might have found some grueling job as a maid, or laundress, perhaps even as a governess, with a recommendation from you. But instead, she became an independent businesswoman, and a successful one at that.”

“She might not want to meet with you,” Rumple warned her.

“But you’ll make it work, won’t you? You kind of owes me that,” Alice had stood and was looking him in the eye.

He smiled. “All right. I’ve actually talked with her and she’s expecting you.” Alice started to leave, but he called her back. “Alice, your father did not leave much in the way of a fortune, he seemed to have frittered it away on gambling and horses and nonsense. There is, we suspect, a great deal of drug money, but likely when, or if, it is found, it will go to the empire, I hope to provide support services for individuals and families affected by the drug trade.”

Alice shrugged. “So, I’m no worse off. I’ve got a bit of money from me adoptive parents and if you come forth with that job . . . . It is working with that damn Fairy Dust poppy, isn’t it? It’s so powerful and I have all these ideas about how it can be used medicinally, especially to help with pain and . . . well, I’ve wondered if it might help with some head problems.”

He held up his hand – _Alice had a tendency to run on whenever she was talking about her passion._

“I’m happy to fund your research. But . . . he hesitated. “Alice, I won’t be running the country, the duchy, as a for-profit business – running a country is different, much different, from running a business.” He stopped and carefully considered his next words. “I’ve learned that a business is about the bottom line, the amount of money you make, but a country . . . it’s about the people, doing the right thing for the people. My wife has helped me understand this. She believes, and has convinced me, that people have basic rights to clean water, quality food, decent shelter, safety, medical care and education and those things should be available and attainable for the people. This duchy is starting deeply in debt and, right now, people don’t have access to even food, water, and shelter. That has created so many other problems. Things won’t get fixed quickly . . . or easily. It’s going to take money . . . and time . . . and creativity.” He smiled at Alice. “I’d like to think that you coming up with medicinal uses for that damned poppy will not only help people but bring in a lot of money. You’re a worthy investment.”

“Why thank you, Uncle,” Alice told him. “I’ll do me best.”

“I know you will.” He hesitated. “Alice, although there’s no real proof,  I do believe that you are Killian’s daughter and I think that you should have something in the way of an inheritance.”

Alice teetered back and forth, from one foot to the other. She pulled on her clothes. “So, what are you thinkin’?”

“Perhaps a small corner of the Duchy could be deeded to you. Someplace you could have a home and a laboratory.”

“Someplace up near the Oz border?” she asked, brightening and stopping her teetering. “Where I’d be close to the poppies?”

“Something like that. Of course, you know that Jefferson is putting together a new university and he is likely to recruit you to instruct a course or two in . . . uh . . . mind-altering plants.”

“So, he’s finally goin’ to be getting that off the ground. Good for him.”

“You know Jefferson?” Rumple asked.

“Course -- friends with his daughter, Grace. She’s younger than me, but she’s one of the few girls at that school who’s not a silly twit . . . or a twat,” Alice spoke brazenly plainly. “I think I’d like working with Professor Jefferson. It sounds like I’d be needing a little place at the university, too.”

“I would think perhaps a couple of rooms, a small apartment, yes. Somewhere on the grounds of the main estate.”

“All right then,” she told him, bouncing on her toes. She stopped suddenly. “If it’s known that you’re helping me out, do you think there’s a chance that people will think that there’s another reason why you’re doing it?”

“What? Oh -- that you’re my daughter? Yes, I could see people speculating on that.” He shook his head, “Likely they might, but I’ve learned that people are going to think what they want to think. You and I know the truth. My wife knows the truth and your mother knows the truth. And . . .” he added slowly, “Alice, you know, I would be very happy if you were my daughter. I’d be proud to be your father and I’m sorry I’m not.”

“If you had been, you would’ve owned up to it and, well, things would’ve been different. You’re going to make a great dad,” she smiled at him. “I’m in with the whole house and workshop near Oz and a little apartment on the big estate. See you when I get back from visiting with me mum.”

Rumple watched his ward bounce out of the room. He had already had a lengthy talk with Gothel letting her know his plans with Alice. He’d told her that he was pretty certain that Alice would want to meet her. Gothel had nervously agreed to have a meeting with her daughter. He hoped it would go well.

**Six Months Later**

For the past six months, Rumple had fretted over his duchy and fretted over his very pregnant wife.

She hadn’t slowed up. Dr. Hopper had assured her (and him) that as long as Belle felt like doing things and would get off her feet a couple of times during the day, then she was all right in doing anything she wanted to. _He needed to have a word with the good doctor in private._

She’d insisted on coming with him as he made the rounds of Killian’s Duchy – except, he kept reminding himself, now it was his Duchy. One of the first people she had introduced him to was the hermit cleric, Brother John.  Belle had been correct in her assessment of the man. He was a calm, philosophical individual who well understood the difference between the letter of the law and the spirit of the law. Reluctantly, after considerable persuasion, Brother John had accepted the role of Chief Justice. Rumple had also begun to make plans to introduce Brother John to his father-in-law. He thought the two men would have a lot to talk about.

After recruiting Brother John, his next act was to rename the duchy both with a nod to its past and as a testament to the new start. The old name for the duchy, before Killian’s family had come into power, was Swansea. He knew that Mary Margaret was descended from that family which had failed to produce a male heir, and the duchy had passed into the hands of their cousins, Killian’s family. Those older times represented the golden age of the duchy and Rumple decided to re-adopt the name, much to the approval of Mary Margaret. Her son-in-law, his son Bae, had gone so far as to adopt the swan into a coat of arms for his branch of the family, much to his Emma’s pleasure.

Bae had surprised him. As Milah had predicted, he was reluctant to take on the role of Duke, especially heir-apparent, abdicating this aspect of his inheritance. Bae did agree to help with the restructuring, especially the financial aspects, and he and Emma had elected to move to a new place on the old estate to be closer to his father. Bae had also agreed to oversee the refurbishing of the main house on the estate which had fallen into serious disrepair, as well as the many smaller homes that were scattered around the large estate grounds. For their new home, Belle and Rumple had selected what they thought might have been the old Dowager house. It was a mid-sized house with plenty of bedrooms – and had the remnants of a large rose garden in the front yard.

Rumple and Belle had been on the road, making notes about the many needed repairs, when they’d encountered the good Farmer MacDonald. Rumple was familiar with the man from listening to his wife’s story of her adventures. He’d had MacDonald investigated and his agents all reported to him that the man had indeed been a competent and well-respected magistrate. After his own interview, Rumple appointed him Chief Magistrate with the burden of helping him appoint magistrates for each of the Duchy’s parishes. He would be reporting to Bae who was working with Brother John on the Duchy’s judicial system.

Rumple had also met young Bobby, MacDonald’s son, who was clearly in love with his wife. Bobby had not been happy to find out that Belle was married, the child glaring at Rumple. Belle had taken the child off and they had chatted. He had no idea what she had told the boy, but when they came back they were both smiling and holding hands.

“Whatever did you tell the child?” he asked when they were alone later that evening.

“I told him to study and be the best man he could be, as good as his father, and perhaps, just perhaps, someday I might have a daughter that he could court.”

Rumple considered – somehow, he’d been assuming he’d have a son. He could parent a son. But a little girl, one who looked like his Belle with dark hair and bright blue eyes? He’d be lost. How could he ever parent a little Belle? He’d be a total push-over -- she’d just have to look at him. Should she ever tear up or have a little pouting trembling lip, he’d cave. And then . . .  and then, there would be boys, he was sure there would be boys lining up to court the little beauty. Oh, he was going to need help should they have a daughter, for sure.

But he would love having a daughter . . . for sure.

After more weeks on the road, they’d encountered Daniel and Regina in the Waystation Dun Wallah. Daniel had fast gained the reputation for being an honest, hard worker among locals and been promoted to managing the local waystation. The couples had shared a simple supper together and by the time it was over, Rumple had offered Daniel the job of supervising all the waystations and road repairs in the Duchy, many of which were no longer operating or had fallen away from their original jobs of providing safe shelter for travelers. Daniel would report directly to him.

After weeks on the road, Rumple and Belle had finally been able to return to the repaired Dowager House which Belle had renamed Rose Cottage.  

**One Month Later**

Rumple was sitting in the sunroom of his new house. Out of his window, he could see the huge main house, the old house that had been the primary dwelling of the Killian dukes. The old monstrosity was being outfitted with classrooms and offices, as a beginning for Jefferson’s university. A dorm was being constructed nearby for students. Jefferson had enthusiastically begun the work on recruiting energetic staff, usually those who were dissatisfied with the restrictions of working at the Imperial University in Hadensburg. He also had developed some unusual admissions criterion – based on merit and talent rather than on family name and money. Along with his university duties, Jefferson was in the process of renovating what had once been the manor house kitchen into a snug little home for himself and his new wife. His wife, Tiana, was all for keeping many of the kitchen features and Jefferson had had no difficulties indulging her.

Rumple was so hoping that they would be able to enjoy a bit of a well-earned rest after their months of grueling work.  Belle was at the point in her pregnancy that she looked like a fertility icon. She waddled when she walked and often needed assistance to sit down and then again when she had to stand up. She was eating six times a day and was up and down during the night, no longer with nausea, but now to empty her bladder.

She was also glowing. He thought she had never looked more beautiful.

Belle had insisted that if her child was to be the future Duke, it would be appropriate for him to be born in the Dukedom. Rumple had insisted that Dr. Hopper temporarily move next to them until the baby was born, leaving young Molly Lucas to handle the healing duties of Avonlea. Belle thought this was unnecessary but knew better than to argue with her increasingly frazzled husband. 

That first day in their new house, Belle had walked across to inspect what had been done in the old main house and had been rushed by young Grace, Jefferson’s daughter, now home from school.

They had already discussed things and Belle knew that Jefferson had decided to finish up his daughter’s education under his own tutelage. Grace had been quite happy with this arrangement, especially when she had learned that Alice would be working for her father.

“When am I going to be an aunt?” Grace had asked her.

“Trust me. It can’t be soon enough,” Belle had told her, accompanying the child on a tour of what had been done in the old main house. There were plenty of classrooms, along with little rooms for offices. Grace shared her father was hoping to welcome the first lot of students in the coming fall.

 

The next evening, Belle was sharing supper with her husband in the  dayroom. They were able to watch the sun sink below the horizon through some large paned windows.  

“I hope you’ve been resting,” Rumple told his wife. _He thought she was looking a bit tired._

“I have. I’ve been catching up on my correspondence, reading and replying,” she told him.

“That’s nice,” he answered.

“I did get the most interesting letter from Lady Bronwyn.”

“From whom?”

Belle took a deep breath before answering. “Lady . . . oh, you don’t know her by that name. That’s Gothel’s name from . . . before,” she explained.

He nearly spewed his wine. “You’ve had a letter from Gothel?”

“Oh, we’ve been writing. She’s an amazing font of information. I wondered why you hadn’t used her to gather intelligence.” Belle looked at her husband who gave her a tight smile. “Oh, I see, you did.”

“She wasn’t entirely trustworthy,” he shared. “But, please, why are you in contact with her?”

“She’s Alice’s mother and she’s a good friend of your former wife,” Belle explained and then stopped, sitting still again.  

Rumple rubbed his head. He wasn’t going to win this.

“She did share that after meeting with Alice, she decided to shut down her business and retire. Alice had wanted her to move closer to her, but Lady Bronwyn didn’t think it would be good to have Milah so close to the poppy fields, not when she’s made some progress defeating her addiction.”

“Milah is with her?”

“Ah . . . darling, Milah and Gothel . . . well, they are . . . very good friends,” Belle explained.

“Oh . . . oh, that explains some things,” he remarked. "A lot of things, actually."

“It does. Gothel’s family were originally from the north part of this duchy, in the forest parish. They had a thriving lumber business which went under when the economy collapsed. Gothel has bought her family’s old estate. She figures with all the building you have going on that it’s a good investment.”

Rumple had to agree, “It is. I’ll be sending her quite of bit of business.”

Belle didn’t say anything. She was sitting quietly again.

“Are you all right?” he asked, expecting her to wave him off.

“Darling, don’t be upset with me.”

“Why would I be upset?” he asked warily.

She gave him a weak smile, “I’ve been having pains since earlier this afternoon. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to fret. The pains are coming quite regularly now, about every ten minutes.” She looked at him.  “I think the baby is about to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT: Twenty-five years later.


	23. And They Lived Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-five years later . . .

Rumple was feeling his age. His knee particularly was prone to pestering him. He sat looking out into his rose garden. He was on the front patio of the cozy house that had been home to him for the past twenty-five years. It was late afternoon and quite sunny. He felt warm and placid, like a well-fed cat.

Rumple was expecting someone. She had written to let him know she would be dropping by. He looked over his shoulder toward the back of the house. He knew his Belle and his grandson were back there tending to a vegetable garden they were planning out.

 

He heard the carriage as it sputtered and coughed its way up the road. A steam-carriage, of course. Jefferson’s people had been busy, making real and practical some of the mad inventions that would sprout out of his inventive genius friend’s mind. Alice’s apothecary preparations along with the steam-carriage business had resurrected the economy of Swansea – although Rumple’s favorite latest invention, coming from Jefferson’s brilliant daughter Grace, had to be the talk-far device. Wires had been strung all across his properties and he was able to connect instantly with his friends and business associates whenever he desired.

The steam-carriage pulled to a stop and a plainly dressed woman stepped out.

“Lady Bronwyn,” he greeted the woman he had known as Gothel for many years. Her hair had grayed and there were lines in her face, but she was still a handsome woman.

“Dearest Rumple,” she greeted him.

“I was so sorry to hear about your loss,” he shared as she sat down beside him and accepted a glass of lemonade.

“Your loss too,” she reminded him

“I had already lost her many, many years ago. And my feelings were already settled. I regret to tell you that, although I never wished her dead, I was not saddened when I heard that she had died.”

Gothel nodded. “I suppose not. But Milah’s last two decades were good ones and you might have liked the person she eventually became. She’d beaten her addiction – it helped that the source for Sand dried up, thanks to your efforts. I think, I think she was finally able to find some happiness once she became comfortable with herself.”

“But her death leaves a hole in your life.”

“Yes, but I still have my Alice.”

Rumple nodded. “Yes, you do. I know she’s thrilled that you’ll be living closer to her now. It’s what she’s been wanting.”

“It’s a little place, separate, but next to hers, nearby, but not underfoot.”

“Sounds ideal. And, are you still comfortable with selling your lumber business?”

“I am. The young man I sold it to has been working there for a while and comes from a solid family. I believe his father used to be your stableman and married that right bitch Cora’s daughter.”

“Oh yes, Daniel and Regina. Solid, hard-working couple. Good people. My son Gideon married their daughter.”

“You approved of your son, the future Duke of Swansea, marrying a stableman’s daughter?” Gothel asked him.

“Couldn’t have been happier – the girl has the same strong values as her parents – hard work, honesty, charity . . . and she makes my son happy. And, by the way, that stableman Daniel now serves as the duchy’s chief highway engineer – you were able to drive your steam-carriage here because of his hard work on the roads and the waystations.”

“Best people for the right job – that was always your motto,” Gothel told him.

“Couldn’t afford to be a snob,” Rumple let her know.

Gothel took a sip of her lemonade. “And your daughters? All doing fine?”

He sighed. “Oh yes, the oldest married a legal advocate.  He’s the son of my Chief Magistrate – a fine young man. That’s Rose who’s always been the kindest of my children, bringing home stray kittens and puppies.”

_Bobby MacDonald had been friends with the Stiltskins since he’d been a young child and had fulfilled his destiny to become a good man. It had been hard for Rumple to let go of his sweet, oldest daughter, but the two young people had clearly been in love and he knew Bobby, or Robert as he was now called, would take care of her. Rose had always been the daughter who reflected his wife’s caring concern. Rose had studied some with Molly Lucas and was an adept healer._

“It’s your second daughter that I hear is cutting a swath through the capital?” Gothel asked.

Rumple sighed. His second daughter, Lacinda – known within the family as Lacey, was a great beauty with bright green eyes, her mother’s pale skin, and her dark hair. She had inherited her father’s cunning mind and relished the intrigues of the court and nobility. “Yes, so I hear also. She’s staying with the Nolens and I hear from Mary Margaret that she’s . . . a bit of a handful.”

“Is it true that she’s attracted the attentions of Zaden?” Gothel named the oldest child of Emperor Haden and Empress Zelena.

“Yes. I can be honest with you -- I’m far more happy with my current in-laws than I will ever be with Haden and Zelena, should this marriage come to pass. However, Lacey thrives in court life, and I have to trust her judgment, that if this is what she truly wants, then I will give her my blessing.”

_Lacey had always been his wild child, always up to mischief and, usually, able to talk her way out of consequences with her clever tongue. He knew he was seeing darker aspects of himself any time he’d had to address her behavior._

“There’s one more daughter, isn’t there?” Gothel asked.

“Oh yes. Colette. She’s our scholar, as brilliant as her mother. She’s just fifteen and spends all her time sitting in some of Professor Jefferson’s classes. If not there, then she’s in his lab working on some invention with the man. I can see her marrying some intense math professor with little wire-rimmed glasses.”

“All seems to be doing well, then?” Gothel observed.

“I think so. The duchy’s doing well – people have jobs, opportunities for education, good health care, and all these lovely devices that make their lives easier that our good Jefferson and his students are inventing. I have children, grandchildren and through Bae, great-grandchildren and, they all seem to be healthy and generally happy. I still have input into all my businesses whenever I take a notion, and, when I need things to be quiet, I have my rose garden.” He waved his hands toward the rich, plush flowers that lined the walk up to the patio. He took a sip of his lemonade. “And, most importantly, I have a wife who loves me.”

Gothel smiled at him. “You have been fortunate I think. Your wife is most remarkable. It was so long ago now, but I remember being astonished when she reached out to me. I don’t know another woman in her position who would have made such a kind gesture. And Alice often tells me how your wife treats her like another daughter – she always feels welcomed in your home, always knows that she can come to you two for help should she need anything. Your wife is amazing.”

“She is indeed, most remarkable.”

“I think, because of her kindness, I think that helped both Milah and me to move on from our pasts, to heal, to become better people,” Gothel shared.

Rumple gave her a quiet smile, “Belle has certainly helped me become a better person.”

“You realize what a lucky bastard you are.”

Rumple took another sip of his lemonade. “I do . . . every moment . . . of every day.”

“I guess one of the smartest things I ever did was to align myself with you. I wasn’t sure, you know, it was a leap into the dark. I knew you had the reputation of keeping your word, but, I didn’t know if you really would – to me anyway. And there was every chance that Killian would win, would kill you, would find out that I had supplied you with information and would come after me.”

“Somehow I think, you would have still landed on your feet, my dear,” he told her. “It’s one of the things you’re good at.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But I have to say, I like this world far better than anything that Killian might have created. The right side won.”

“Perhaps, but the fight still goes on, you know. There will always be those people who view governing as a path to power and money rather than a sacred trust requiring sacrifice and service. I have to say I’m glad I’ve reached a point in my life that I’ve passed the battle on to a younger generation.”

“Well, if you raised them right, and I think you did, then they will continue to fight . . . and continue to win,” Gothel told him. “Let’s have a toast before I head over to the Waystation. To the younger generation.” She held up her glass and Rumple raised his. They clinked the glasses together and both took a drink.

“I’ll be seeing you around, I’m sure,” she told him as she stood and headed back out to her steam-carriage.

“Glad you dropped by. I’m sure you’ll enjoy living near Alice,” he called after her.

He watched her carriage drive away. It was still late afternoon. He picked up his cane and made his way to the back of the cottage.

He spotted them, his wife and grandson Giles, Gideon’s oldest. They were keeping the child while Gideon and his wife were making one of their many trips around the duchy. Rumple liked the three-year-old. The boy reminded him much of Gideon at that age, somber, serious, and very curious. His wife was kneeling on the ground next to the child and the two were engaged in a deep discussion.

“Well,” Belle was talking. “We’ve decided to plant both vegetables and some flowers. You’re going to let me choose the flowers and you’re going to pick the vegetables, right?”

The child nodded.

“We don’t have a big space, so we’ll have to keep it to six vegetable plants this year.”

“More next year?” the child asked.

“I think so, you’ll be bigger and we can have a bigger garden,” his grandmother told him. “So, what vegetables do you want to plant?”

The child furrowed his brow, his chocolate brown eyes reflecting his concern. “Six veg-tables?” he repeated.

“Six vegetables,” his grandmother confirmed. “One, two, three, four, five, six. Now, you have a lot of choices. We can have six vegetables that are the same or six different vegetables or two of each or . . . lots of combinations. So, what do you think?”

The child frowned. “It hard. Don’t know.”

“Well, what’s your favorite vegetable?”

“Potatoes,” the child answered promptly.

“That’s your Grandpapa’s favorite vegetable too. We’ll have to get a lot of hay to grow potatoes, but I think we can do that. What else do you like to eat?”

“Peppers?” the child suggested.

“Excellent,” she told him. “Love peppers.”

She waited, and finally, the child suggested, “Lellow squash?”

“Yellow squash,” she repeated. “Two of each perhaps?”

“Yes,” the child agreed.

Belle gave her grandchild a big hug. “Good choices. Exactly what I was hoping you’d pick. I knew you’d make the right decision,” she told him, and the child beamed. “Let’s go see if your grandpapa has any of that lemonade left.” She stood and turned, seeing her husband.

“There is some left. It’s on the table on the front patio,” he told them.

“Gandpapa,” the child ran to him and Rumple leaned down to give his grandson a hug. “Gandmamma and me are plannin’ our garden. Gandmamma says I make good choices.”

“I’m sure you did,” Rumple confirmed and escorted the two back to the patio.

They had supper on the patio, out in the fresh air. Later Rumple read a story to the boy after Belle had bathed the child and dressed him in pajamas. They put the pleasant, cooperative child to bed with a kiss.

Rumple and his wife sat in their bedroom, sharing a glass of red wine before they retired.

“Oh, darling, we have an invitation we need to respond to. Jefferson and some of his people have asked us to attend a demonstration for a new flying machine,” Belle told him.

“A new flying machine? Why do we need a new flying machine? We already have flying machines,” Rumple grumbled.

“This one doesn’t use the lighter-than-air gas-filled balloon. It has some type of engine powered by something called dissel,” she told him.

“Diesel fuel?” he questioned. “That stuff is dangerous. I don’t see much future in a machine that runs on fuel.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. The demonstration will be on Kite Island, so if we decide to go, we’ll need to leave a day ahead and drive north.”

Rumple had a flicker of panic cross his face. “Drive there? Uh . . . perhaps we can catch an airship up to Fiddlehead and ride a ferry over.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want to ride in a steam-carriage with me driving. My driving scares you and makes you uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested.

“Then why don’t you want to ride in a steam-carriage with me driving?”

He hesitated. “Because your driving scares me and makes me uncomfortable,” he admitted.

She laughed. “I promise to drive slowly and be more careful. Will that suit you? I was thinking after the demonstration we could drive over and visit with Alice and then go on and see my father and my lovely step-mother.”

Rumple considered. “I haven’t visited with Alice in a while. I’d like to see that new facility that my money funded.”

“I hear it’s wonderful. She’s been working with that nice Apothecarian from the big Hadensburg hospital and has an idea for a medication that might help with the Sweet Blood disorder.”

“Why hasn’t she married that man?” Rumple asked.

“Because she isn’t in love with him,” Belle told him. “She likes him . . . a lot, but she’s in love with someone else.”

“But . . . I don’t understand. Doesn’t she have two children by the man?”

“Well . . . as I understand it, Plunkett’s been gracious enough to donate his . . . ah . . . efforts, but he knew going in that Alice was in love with someone else.”

“Then why didn’t Alice have this other bloke father the babies?”

“Because this other bloke can never be a father. Rumple, darling, Alice has the same preferences as her mother and Milah. She’s in a committed relationship with another woman.”

Rumple blinked. “How do you know all this?”

Belle shrugged, “People talk to me. I listen.”

“Good lord. You could’ve been, should’ve been an Imperial Spymaster. I learn more from you over a single glass of wine than I would learn in a day of briefing from my trained agents,” he shook his head.

“Oh, but I’m so glad I’m not doing all that intelligence gathering anymore. I always felt just a little dirty knowing that I was just being nice to these people, so I could report back to you.”

“Spying is a dirty business,” Rumple agreed. “But you were good at it.”

“But now, I’m so much happier doing what I’m doing, helping with the schools, the hospitals, especially getting a library system up and running. It was what I was raised to do and I love it.”

“Are you . . . are you sorry we didn’t have more children?” he asked cautiously.

“Dr. Hopper was telling us that it wasn’t a good idea. I had all that difficulty with Colette, almost losing her and . . . “

“We almost lost you,” he said softly.                                                                       

“But now we get to have the grandchildren over. I’m really enjoying myself with Giles. He’s such a sweet boy. It’s like having Gideon all over again,” Belle told him.

“We were lucky that Gideon was such an easy baby. I remember when he was born. We were in the middle of a conversation at the dinner table and you announced that you were in labor and I  . . .”

“You were being such a fuss-budget,” Belle reminded him.

“I was so worried about you, especially with that first pregnancy. And watching you go through labor . . . I’d never seen anyone work that hard for that long. I really was concerned that something might happen to you or the baby.”

“And after every birth, you promised me that you would never touch me again,” Belle shook her head, recalling the man’s distress.

“And I meant to keep that promise, but . . . well, you . . .”

“Oh darling, I knew you were just trying to take care of me.”

“You . . . women . . . you are so much stronger than men,” he said with some sense of wonder. “You know Jefferson had suggested we have half a dozen children.”

“No, I didn’t. Well, he and Tiana certainly pursued that goal. Six children – all brilliant, all beautiful.”

“Yes, although I would have described them as being overly curious and too pretty for their own good,” Rumple grumbled. He’d had several run-ins with Jefferson’s brood when they had gotten up to mischief, all harmless episodes, but nuisances nonetheless.

Belle laughed, “Six children! Hah! I remember our poor little Gideon. After Colette was born, he begged us not to have more children. I guess he’d given up on getting that little brother he so wanted.”

Rumple shook his head, “Yeah, I don’t know that he could have managed four little sisters.” He paused and sighed, “You know, I was terrified of having to raise a daughter.”

“Really? But you were so good at the job.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. Darling, you encouraged our daughters to be independent, confident and self-reliant. Every day you showed them respect. You showed them how they should expect to be treated by a man. That’s one of the biggest gifts a father can give his daughters. You were wonderful . . . and still are,” Belle told him.

“Thank you,” he shifted uncomfortably. “I . . . uh . . . I did have a thought this afternoon.”

“Just one?” Belle asked.

“I don’t have many anymore,” he admitted. He spoke slowly, “When our grandson decided on what vegetables to plant, you made him think that his choices were what you had wanted all along and he’d been able to make this great, terrific decision all on his own.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. What would you have told him if he had wanted to plant . . . say, all potatoes?”

“That it was exactly what I’d wanted and he’d made a good decision,” Belle told him. Her eyes had narrowed. _What was he getting at?_

“So, no matter what he said, you would have led him to believe it was what you wanted all along?”

“I wanted him to make the choice and feel good about it, that’s all I was up to,” she explained.

He took a deep breath. “I’m just remembering a while back ago, I told you that I had decided to accept the title of Duke and you let me know that it was what you had wanted all along and it was the best decision . . .” he began.

“Well, it was,” she agreed, suddenly understanding. _So that’s what was bothering him._

Rumple thought a moment. “What if I had told you that I just wanted to live an ordinary life and have babies and a little rose garden? Would you have told me it was what you’d wanted all along, that it was the best decision?”

Belle slowly smiled at him. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think  . . . yes.”

“Rumple, darling. The important thing was not the decision – I would have been happy with whatever choice you made. The important thing was that you were comfortable with your decision, that you felt that you had done the right thing.”

“All this time,” Rumple was shaking his head. “All this time, I was so pleased with myself that I was doing what you wanted me to – that’s how I knew it was the right decision.”

“But you did make the right decision and you were doing what you wanted to.”

“But if I had chosen to live in a little cottage somewhere, that would have been the right decision too?”

“If that was what you really wanted, yes,” Belle assured him.

Rumple drained his glass. “Well, I guess choosing the duchy eventually enabled me to have both options, the duchy and my little cottage with the rose garden.”

“It did,” Belle agreed.

Rumple poured himself a second glass of the rich red wine. “You know, I used to think that I was the manipulative, devious one, but . . . compared to you . . . I’m a naïve babe in the woods.”

“Me! Manipulative and devious?”

“Yes, you smile and act so demure, but all the while, you are . . . “ he paused, “trying to make the people around you feel good about themselves.”

“Oh, that does sound just awful.” She was laughing at him now.

He drained his glass. “Well, as awful as you are, everything good in my life is because of you.”

“Oh darling, I could easily say the same thing about you,” Belle told him.

Rumple shook his head, paused and then spoke slowly. “I remember meeting you that first time -- at the chapel altar. I was in a hurry to get back to the capital to finish up some business deal – I don’t remember which one it was now. I remember I noticed how shabby your dress was. I noticed that even though you appeared calm and self-possessed, you were trembling. You were afraid, but you weren’t going to let it show. I thought you were brave and I thought you were beautiful, very beautiful, but . . . unpolished. I thought then that your role in my life would be to be an ornament, something other men would envy me for possessing. I thought you might offer me some . . . ah . . . carnal amusement, but I . . . I never thought you would become so important,, so very important to me. I never thought I would fall in love with you.”

Belle gave him a gentle smile. “And I never thought I would be so lucky as to have a husband I could love and respect and who would feel that way about me.”

“How could I feel anything but love and respect for you? You came into my life like a breath of fresh air. Sometimes you were just a brisk breeze that helped me clear my head and other times you were a fierce squall forcing me to really think about what I was doing, what was really important. Your love has been a wind that swept me away, lifting me up into a far better place. I will always love you, Belle.”

“And I will always love you, Rumple,” she promised reaching out to take his hand. “Now, let’s go on to bed. We have to get up early and try to keep up with a three-year-old.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is The End.
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you who followed, commented/reviewed, kudo’d/favorited, etc this story. This story has been a fun ride for me – and I do hope you enjoyed it. When I began the story about two years ago, my goal was to write an action-adventure story with a heart of romance.
> 
> I’m not sure what my next venture will be. I don’t have writer’s block – I’m just not sure which project I want to develop and push out of the nest. I do think that I will return, at least for one story, to my mainstay – The Movie Remix. 
> 
> Right now, I have I have starts for His Girl Friday, Desk Set (the heroine is a librarian for Pete’s sake), and Bell, Book and Candle (with Rumple as the magical party). But I’m also considering another Audrey Hepburn movie, Funny Face (Audrey Hepburn movies do so well translating into Rumbelle romances). Then there’s The Man Who Came to Dinner (with Gold as the curmudgeon and Belle as his assistant – the ending would have to change), Ball of Fire (with Lacey), Maltese Falcon (that would also have to have a twist, since Mary Astor’s character committed murder and went to jail – not a fate for our Belle) and Christmas in Connecticut (with our sweet Spinner as the veteran who ends up as the special guest of the farm-wife-pretender blogger Belle). Oh, I also keep having dreams about doing an Avengers story (not the Marvel team, the John Steed/Emma Peel team).  
> I’m open to suggestions if anyone has any preference (always) (and thank you). -twyla


End file.
